


Under the Crimson Sky

by sunshineflying



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alderaan exists, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Corpses, Dark Side Rey, Deception, Double Agents, Ensemble piece at the beginning, Eventual Smut, F/M, Heavy Reylo at the end, I promise I will do my best to make it worth the wait!, In which I retcon parts of the OG and Prequel trilogies and use those plot devices in other ways., M/M, Manipulation, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, Murder, Nuclear Warfare, Parnassos isn't a wasteland, Patricide, Planet Destruction, Political Drama, Pregnancy, Slow Burn, Star Wars but make it Royal, also pretty heavily Gingerpilot, canonverse, servitude
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-01-24 15:03:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 98,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18573913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshineflying/pseuds/sunshineflying
Summary: Peace between the Resistance and the First Order is precarious at best. The Royal Families of the galaxy strive daily to maintain the peace through diplomatic meetings and in especially desperate times, marriage. When a Force-sensitive girl arrives on Starkiller Base, everything changes. The race to find Luke Skywalker causes tension to escalate, until a disaster greater than anyone could have anticipated thrusts the two factions into war.As our young royals come into power, will they rise above, or will they succumb to the manipulation and plots and meet their own end, just as the generation before them? And how does the Force-sensitive girl Rey from Nowhere factor into everything?A political drama set in a slightly-altered canonverse, with an ensemble cast, meddling parents, familial conflict, and of course, the Force. Eventual Reylo, eventual smut, eventual murder. Rating and tags will update as necessary.





	1. Act I, Chapter I: At Dawn, News Breaks

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for joining me on this journey! This fic came to mind about a month ago, and I've been doing a lot of research and plotting to bring it to fruition. Thank you to everyone who has bounced ideas with me, provided support when I was ready to give up, and of course to the folks at TWD for all the sprints and encouragement.
> 
> There's a lot of tags, so I want to be upfront, blunt, and clear: This is a Reylo fic, with a largely ensemble cast and story. As the fic wears on, the goal is to become more focused on Reylo and less on the ensemble, but I wanted to show the full course of events that leads to their connection and collaboration. I do hope you'll stick around for that. At the beginning, chapters will alternate between the POV of the Resistance and the POV of the First Order. In later chapters, as the plot becomes more intertwined, all will converge.
> 
> All this to say, thank you to each and every one of you for giving this fic a chance. It's my first dip into Reylo in almost a full year, and I'm both apprehensive and excited to return. I can't wait to hear your thoughts and feedback in the comments.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben wakes to a call for an impromptu meeting with his mother, the Queen of Alderaan. He attends, though filled with trepidation, and endures a difficult meeting before retreating to the family hangar to see an old friend, Rose. Meanwhile, across the galaxy, Poe discusses new plans for the Resistance he's just learned of from Queen Leia with his attendant, Finn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place at the same time as chapter two.

Though a man of great stature, Ben Solo walks through the halls of the Royal Palace of Alderaan with drooped shoulders, trying his best to appear small and unassuming. He feels like a man walking to his death. Perhaps, in a way, he is. 

The halls of the palace are ornate, stonework and marble with carvings of flowers and landscapes. Artwork seems to entrench every surface one comes across, generations of history stored upon the walls, either etched into them or paintings hung upon them. Somewhere in the hallway hangs a painting from his childhood, his mother the Queen looking strong and powerful, Ben in front of her before he understood the full weight of what he’d be inheriting, and his father, Han, the Viceroy of Alderaan, with his typical cool indifference and gruff demeanor. They looked a sight, all starkly in contrast to each other.

It was a perfect embodiment of their family, of how disjointed they all were from each other, how little they all had in common not just in appearance but in interests and dare he say it — values. Or so, they’d find a rift in their values once he arrives in the room where they’re waiting for him, to scold him and to give strongly-worded opinions. Vaguely Ben knows he resembles them in some ways — he scowls like his father, has his mother’s jawline, has his father’s propensity for trouble. But Ben manages to take those traits and hide them or twist them just enough to make them less appealing, less forgivable.

Everything he does is a little less forgivable than it is for most people.

He gets to the conference room — his ire at the fact that they have a conference room in their _home_ is a discussion for another day — and hesitates. Though the palace seems warm and inviting to most, for Ben it’s like a prison. It’s where his parents — nay, his mother — tell him how to act and what to do. As Crown Prince of Alderaan, there are many things he cannot do. Divorce is very high up on that list. And the fact that he’s done that and his parents found out that morning by reading the galaxy’s daily news means that this surprise mid-week meeting will not be a good one.

There’s no delaying the inevitable, so Ben braces himself for impact.

At first when he walks in, nothing feels out of the ordinary. Everyone is where they usually are, just like in every other meeting. But then they see that it’s _him_ and their expressions fall. “Ben,” Leia says tersely. It’s her _I’m trying not to get too angry with you_ voice, and Ben has hated it ever since he identified it as such. “Have a seat.”

If Ben were feeling more argumentative, he’d petulantly cross his arms and stand, but he doesn’t want to face any more wrath than is entirely necessary.

He sits, and when he looks up at his mom, Ben is reminded just how strong and tough she is, especially considering how small she is, relatively speaking of course. She’d dressed down that day in trousers and a shirt and vest, a more feminine version of what his dad had worn basically every day for as long as he could remember. Which meant, of course, that’s what Han was wearing for their meeting. Meanwhile, Ben wore all black, as though he were walking to somebody’s funeral.

Figuratively speaking, he was. It was his own.

“Before you scold me, will you at least hear me out?” Ben asks defensively.

Leia purses her lips and looks at Han, who just shrugs in his general _I don’t care_ kind of way. Ninety percent of the time, Leia had the lead in all their conversations and Han was just along for the ride. “Alright, let’s hear it, then,” Leia agrees, crossing her arms. 

He doesn’t even have to speak to know that his mother isn’t going to be amenable to anything he says — it’s all excuses, not rationale. She’s not going to buy a word of it.

Ben takes a deep breath. This may be the only opportunity he has to defend himself, ever. He’s going to take advantage of it whether or not she’s going to really listen.

“Okay, well, first of all, I know you’re going to say I killed her chances at becoming Governor by doing this, but she agreed. We agreed on everything about this divorce and I’m pretty sure it’s the only stuff we’ve ever agreed on, which is proof we didn’t belong together,” Ben says. “And second of all, you guys have always said you want me to be happy so I want to ask you why suddenly my happiness doesn’t matter anymore.”

Leia frowns. Shockingly, it’s Han who speaks up first. “We _do_ want you to be happy. I promise you, kid. I think your mom is just —”

“Happiness has to come second to duty, which we’ve also told you all the time,” Leia interrupts.

Ben scowls. “How did you get away with marrying dad?”

Leia scoffs dismissively. “We’ve been bickering since long before you were born.”

“So you’re _not_ happy with him?”

Ben looks smug for having turned the tables, but Leia is having none of it. “Was happiness the only reason you and Tallie decided to divorce? I just don’t get it,” Leia asks, sounding desperate for answers by this point. “At the wedding, and even before the wedding, you two got along so well. You looked happy together. I’ve never seen you happier than the day you two got married. So what changed?”

This time, Ben has no immediate answer, but Leia won’t let it go. She lets the silence grow, get more awkward with each empty second that passes. Han sits back in his chair, desperate for somebody to say something but insistent that it won’t be him. 

“She didn’t like how busy I was. I didn’t have enough time for her,” Ben explains.

Immediately, Leia’s brows knit together in confusion. “But we don’t even ask that much of you.”

Ben shrugs. “I read. I work out. Sometimes Poe and I go flying,” Ben says. “I don’t want marriage to change all that.”

“Poe will probably get married soon and change that for you, anyway,” Leia says, referring to Ben’s childhood companion like he was a far better royal than Ben. In some ways, he was. She looks pained as she asks, “Was it really worth all this headache and political drama? Did you really have to let this go public? _Now_?”

Angrily, Ben counters, “And what, separate or secretly divorce and then have more of a scandal when we’re seen dating other people? I don’t think so.” He shrugs and looks away, focusing intently on the window, which was closed, blocked off by curtains. Even inanimate objects were more important than the conversation. 

“There’s a reason we didn’t wait, you know.” Ben looks up at his mother, then over to his father. “She thought it’d affect her ability to run a campaign. The timing was _her_ choice.”

Leia doesn’t respond, which tells Ben he actually made a good argument. Though the situation is tense and awkward, it does help a little.

“Look, what’s done is done,” Han says finally. “How do we fix it?”

Ben rolls his eyes. He doesn’t want to _fix it_ , he wants to move on. Contrary to what his parents might think, it wasn’t an easy decision for either of them to make.

“Damage control, mostly,” Leia replies. “I’m meeting with some of the other Resistance leaders later today. Then I’ll take care of the official statement and we can go from there. If Ben needs to speak on this as well, he will, but I’m hoping there are no splits in the Resistance as a result and he doesn’t need to ask them to stay. And for everyone’s sake, I hope this doesn’t kill our chance at her getting the Governor’s seat.”

Public speaking is one of Ben’s least favorite things, and usually his parents don’t make him do it. He hopes like hell he doesn’t have to make a speech because of this. “So are we done here?” Ben asks. “It sounds like you’ve solved everything without me.”

Han and Leia exchange a glance. Both look absolutely exhausted, and it’s not even midday yet. “Yes,” Leia sighs. “You can go.”

Ben stands and leaves quickly, making sure he leaves before anyone can say more to him. He wants to leave this whole debacle behind him as quickly as he can. More than that, he didn’t even really understand why he had to show up in the first place. Clearly his mother was in charge of the situation and he wasn’t needed, other than for some berating, and for them to half-heartedly listen to what he had to say.

Ben walks at a brisk pace, his long strides leading him to the hangar in no time. The path is familiar to him as the back of his hand. He’s walked it thousands of times. It’s his escape on Alderaan, the one place he knows his parents will never be.

The air is cool, the sun not yet risen high enough in the sky to properly warm them on the surface. Ben wears all black as always, much to his mother’s chagrin. He only dresses up when necessary, for big meetings, deigning to wear the ornamental colored garb of purples and grays and silvers when decorum dictates. Still, Ben wishes he’d grabbed one of his many intricately-detailed cloaks before beginning his trek to the hangar.

He can hear someone inside already, when the doors whirr open. Sure enough, just like most times he visits, their lead mechanic Rose Tico is working. She always seems to have something to do, which Ben doesn’t always understand. The royal family of Alderaan owns the best of everything, so presumably their vehicles and droids need little repair. But Rose always seems to have something to tinker with, and Ben is glad for it. It means he has someone to talk to.

“Hey stranger.”

Rose has spotted Ben before he can say a word, just like always.

“Hello.”

She sets down her wrench and wipes the grease from her hands on her beige jumpsuit. “What chaos brings you here today?” she asks, mirth in her voice.

Though years ago, Ben would only visit to vent to Rose, within the past year he’d become bold enough to visit her just because he wanted to. An accidental companionship had blossomed into a full-on friendship — the only friendship free from expectations that Ben had ever known, aside from Poe. 

“News of the divorce broke,” Ben says somberly.

Rose winces. She’d known about it, of course, but not how or when the news would break. Ben hadn’t exactly known, either. “It didn’t go over well, I’m assuming?”

“Duty over happiness, and all that,” Ben grumbles.

He scowls, his brow scrunched in a way that makes him appear dangerous and brooding. It doesn’t deter Rose one bit as she steps nearer to him in the dim, musty hangar. “That’s crap. I’m sorry. Your happiness should always come first,” Rose replies.

“Thank you,” Ben says. 

He’s always been incredibly grateful to have Rose on his side. There are very few people in his life who listen to him and are on his side through everything.

Rose sits on the cleanest patch of concrete she can find, save for the spot next to her, reserved for Ben. He joins her, his limbs lankier and more awkward than Rose’s. He leans his head back against the wall behind them once he’s settled, closing his eyes as he tilts his head upwards towards the ceiling.

“You and Tallie are happier apart though, right?”

Ben nods. It had been difficult, of course. They’d put an ungodly amount of effort into their relationship. They’d gone through the paces. They genuinely tried to date and make it work. There was no spark, but somewhere along the way they’d found _something_ , some common ground that was strong enough at some point to cause them to both look like they were glowing at the wedding. 

Or perhaps they were just good actors. 

But then Ben’s time with Tallie was never enough for her, and her patience with him quickly wore thin.

“Well, I’m sorry your parents aren’t being great about it.”

Rose nudges Ben’s elbow with hers, a shy attempt at providing him some comfort. Technically speaking, she works for him, so there are boundaries. Even bumping his elbow is pushing that, but she knows Ben will ask her to stop before he ever gets her in trouble. Just as she suspected, he doesn’t balk; instead, he opens his eyes and looks at her. 

Even after a long morning at work, the curls that frame her face still bounce when she moves. Her hair is as joyful as she is, curling outwards away from her face. “Always a Queen, never a mother, or something like that,” Ben sighs.

Quizzically, Rose asks, “Who says that?”

“Kids at school used to. Someone heard it from their grandma, I think.”

Rose nods. She may not know much about Royal life, but she knows they all study together at one of the few boarding schools in the galaxy. In them, royal children are trained not just in sciences and the arts, but also in diplomacy, behavior, and debate. And from what Ben has divulged, it’s also the perfect place for royal children to commiserate about their home lives and the general absence of their parents because of royal duties.

“I’m sorry,” Rose offers.

It’s not much to give or say, but it’s all she has. Ben shrugs and turns to face forward again, head still tipped back against the wall. “It’s fine. It could be worse.”

They both know what he’s saying it, even when he’s not truly saying it. He knows her parents are dead. One night when he’d visited just for fun, she’d been having a rough time; it was the day on which her parents had died. She’d told him everything through many tears after he’d found her crying behind his favorite speeder, ending on the more positive note that Leia had saved her and her sister Paige from a life of slavery. She’d been working in the Organa-Solo household in some capacity since Ben was fifteen.

“I’m assuming this means you came to fly, not to chat?” Rose asks.

Ben’s head snaps away from the wall, his dark eyes settling on hers immediately. “Can’t it be both?”

Rose smiles, only the faintest trace of sadness in her eyes. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Ben, and it bothers him that he can’t figure out exactly why she’d be sad. “Of course,” Rose amends, pushing that sad look from her eyes. “Anytime.”

Ben nods in thanks, not sure how to address the strange feeling that had settled over them. The moment feels stilted and wrong. He hesitates just enough that the blunder is bypassed for an easier, safer topic by Rose.

“So, which ship will it be today?”

She leaves off the _Your Highness_ at the end of her statement, a formality usually required by all service workers on the premises. Ben forbid her from calling him that long ago.

“My usual, I think,” Ben replies. 

He doesn’t just want to cruise around in a speeder, he wants to fly through the atmosphere, he wants to soar around the stars. “Righto, Yellow Leader,” Rose says, accompanied by a salute.

Together, they cross the hangar, Ben following Rose at a slight distance as they approach the sleek black aircraft.

The ship belongs to the Resistance — it’s the fastest, strongest X-Wing they own. It used to be kept in the Resistance hangar bay on D’Qar, but Ben requested to fly it enough that Rose sought clearance to hold it in the hangar of the royal residence instead. It’s companion, the only other ship with its color scheme and exact schematics, belongs to Prince Poe Dameron of Yavin, Ben’s childhood friend.

Though at first, Ben had envied Poe’s callsign of Black Leader, he accepted that he was to be Yellow Leader once he learned that he’d be inheriting the callsign from his uncle, Lando Calrissian. Though Ben felt as though yellow was the worst color to describe himself or anything related to him, he couldn’t deny an inheritance from the only tolerable member of his family. If Ben had his way, he’d be inheriting Bespin, not Alderaan, but such was his burden.

Ben boarded the X-Wing, the family’s ancient R2 unit on board to help as well. Expertly, in a way that indicated they’d made the same maneuver many times before, Rose guided Ben’s ship from the hangar to the tarmac. From there, he could take to the skies. 

Sure enough, just like always, Rose was waving to him enthusiastically as the ship rose from the ground. They’d established long ago that she couldn’t see him waving back, but that didn’t stop him from doing it.

Though he knows it’s only temporary, Ben feels like a giant weight has been lifted from his chest as he soars through the atmosphere and into the darkness above. He’s always liked flying more than almost anything — or anyone — else.

——

Black Leader touches down on the tarmac outside the Great Temple of Yavin with a flurry of engines. Inside, looking as suave and handsome as ever, is Prince Poe. His dark curls drape across his worried brow as he removes his helmet, his droid beeping to him frantically. BB-8 is a custom orange and white BB unit, first given to him when he was younger as a therapy droid to help him through the loss of his mother. He has since added to BB-8’s duties by bringing the droid along on all of his flights, because he couldn’t bear to part with him when the grief wasn’t quite so overwhelming.

“I know, buddy. Finn’s always here.”

Poe climbs out of the cockpit and down the ladder to the tarmac, his boots hitting with a gentle thud. BB-8 rolls out from underneath the slick black aircraft and pointedly bumps into Poe’s leg as he beeps again.

“Of course I’m gonna tell him what the Queen said. You and Finn are the only ones I trust.”

Sure enough, as he turns around, Poe sees Finn walking eagerly towards him from the back of the Temple. The towering stone structure has housed many a Duke and Duchess and their children. It has weathered many battles and survived many wars, and Poe is proud to call it home.

Just like Finn.

Finn, the boy orphaned in battle, found by Poe’s mother as an infant in the jungle of Yavin after brief skirmish against the First Order in its weaker, more formative years. The Damerons found a home for Finn with his mother’s handmaidens, Poe’s mother pointedly bestowing the duty of raising him to a mother who’d lost her son in the very battle that brought Finn to them. 

Finn lived with her in the staff’s quarters, practically a son to Kes Dameron and Shara Bey, and like a brother to Poe, until he was old enough to start helping around the Temple. To this day, Poe’s one and only personal attendant is Finn. 

“Welcome back!” Finn says jovially as he approaches. 

They embrace, Poe patting Finn on the back, soft sounds coming off the leather jacket Poe had gifted to Finn after his mother lost her life in the same crash that killed his own mother. “Thanks, Finn,” Poe says gratefully.

There’s something about getting home and having someone there to greet him that warms Poe’s heart in a way he can’t describe. 

He allows the hug to linger, a subtle bid for courage and comfort after the very difficult Resistance meeting he’d just come from. “You must be starving. It’s been a long day for you,” Finn says, standing back to really study Poe.

It’s clear that he senses something is wrong, and that he’d like to do anything possible to fix it, just like BB-8 had tried to do when they’d first left Alderaan. “I could eat,” Poe says, the brief flash of joy upon first catching sight of Finn slowly beginning to fade back to stress.

“Come on, I’ll make you something,” Finn offers.

His hand is warm on Poe’s shoulder as he guides him back towards the Temple. In all the years they’ve known each other, Poe has had complete confidence that somehow, when needed, Finn can help boost his mood. But this time, he’s not so sure. Things in the galaxy are worsening, and Poe fears another war. It’s clear that Finn wants to try to help, though, so Poe lets him.

In the kitchen, Poe launches himself up onto the counter in one swift move. Keeping to routine helps Poe feel less out of his element, and he always makes himself at home on the kitchen counters when he visits Finn in service areas.

Finn gathers ingredients and begins to craft a meal before he prompts Poe to speak. “So do you want to talk about what happened today?”

Poe sighs. He does, but he doesn’t know where to start. “Lots of things,” he says before heaving a labored sigh.

“What bothered you the most?”

Though he’d been shy when they first met, hesitant to ask anything too personal of a prince, Finn had learned quickly that no question was too personal or too private for Poe. On the very rare occasion that it was, he’d kindly say so with no repercussions for Finn.

“I think I’m gonna have to get married soon.”

“You think?”

Poe frowns. “Leia didn’t give a ton of details but I guess the peace between us and the First Order is shaky. She said she may try to arrange one for me to keep the peace.”

“Why you?” Finn asks. The slab of meat he puts on the grill sizzles before he asks for follow-up. “Why can’t she just marry off her own son, instead? Clearly letting him choose didn’t work out.”

Poe shakes his head. “It’d look bad, and the First Order would probably read it as an insult. He’s a divorcé now — he’s not the Resistance’s most eligible bachelor anymore.”

Finn flips the meat and it sizzles again. It smells divine, and already Poe’s spirits begin to lift. “That leaves only you then, right?”

“Yep,” Poe nods. “There are a few eligible women but no men other than me. And I guess they’d like me better? I don’t know. D’Acy and Holdo are old, Tallie’s a divorcée too, and Connix is marrying Wexley.”

Finn winces. “Ouch. That sucks. Is this all because of Solo’s divorce?”

“Not entirely,” Poe replies. “I guess some other stuff is kind of falling apart, too. Leia’s freaking out, but you’d never guess it.”

Curiously, Finn asks, “Then how did you?”

“She never goes old fashioned on this stuff unless she has to. I think this is her only option.”

“I’m sorry.”

As Finn begins preparing some vegetables, Poe shrugs and replies, “It’s fine. An arranged marriage worked out for my parents.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Finn agrees. “But aren’t your only options Hux, Phasma, and Kylo Ren?”

“Don’t remind me.”

Finn puts the veggies in to steam and then glances up at Poe again. “Was that all that happened?”

Poe runs a hand through his curls to push his hair out of his face. “Most of it, yeah. Just everyone being really tense and stressed out.”

Finn continues to cook, letting Poe give more detail in his own time if he feels like it. Before he does, Poe steals a raw veggie from the cutting board and gnaws at it. His mother would have scolded him for eating in such an undignified way.

“Politics suck,” Poe says vaguely as he chews. “Not only do we have the divorce mess, but the First Order just finished Starkiller Base, and we have no idea when or where they’re going to use it. We’ve got to convince them not to use it on any of the Resistance’s planets.”

Finn looks alarmed. “That’s… bad.”

“Really bad,” Poe agrees.

Finn flips the meat on the grill again, adding some dried flakes of an herb Poe doesn’t recall the name of to give it some extra flavor. “You think they’ll just blow up some place without considering the lives lost?”

“Yeah,” Poe nods. He kicks his feet where they dangle over the edge of the counter. “Plus we’re all still hoping Con Star doesn’t blow up Parnassos on accident, but if they do, you know someone’s going to find a way to blame us. So between you and me… this peace probably isn’t going to last much longer.”

Finn frowns as he searches for a plate. “That’s not good. We don’t need another war.” 

He’s proof positive of what can happen during wars. 

He puts the meat and veggies on a plate for Poe, and as he hands it to him, says optimistically, “But if we go to war, the likelihood that you have to marry into the First Order drops. Maybe even disappears. A diplomatic marriage can’t stop a war.”

For the first time since landing, Poe genuinely smiles. “You’re right,” he says happily. “You’re a genius, Finn. I think I oughta just marry you.”

Rather than responding — what would he say, anyway? — Finn gets to work cleaning up the dishes he’d just dirtied while preparing Poe’s meal. Poe snags some silverware and winks at Finn before disappearing out of the service quarters to go finish his meal in his room.

——

The next morning, long before the sun had fully risen in the sky or the staff had awakened, Poe disappeared into the backyard of his family’s temple. He walked the path through the gardens with ease, his journey memorized long ago.

A tall tree looms above the rest, its branches long and lush with greenery without being ostentatious or requiring much upkeep. The trunk is wide and strong, though the tree was planted fewer than twenty standard years prior. 

Beneath the tree, on a bench Poe had specifically requested be made in memory of his mother, he takes a seat. Immediately, his hand reaches to the chain around his neck, fingers ducking beneath the beige linen of his tunic to curl around the ring threaded onto the chain. It’s his mother’s wedding ring, and he always wears it, to keep her close.

“Hey, ma.”

Whenever he thinks too hard about it, Poe is pretty sure it’s pathetic for him, a thirty year old man, to talk to his dead mother. But yet when he’s there, beneath the giant Force-sensitive tree in his backyard, gifted to the Damerons by Luke Skywalker himself, it doesn’t feel so immature. It may be naive hope, but Poe almost feels like he’s talking right to her when he sits near it. But that’s not possible, and he knows it. He’s not a Jedi. He has no magical powers that allow him to communicate with those who have passed. All he has are memories. 

“Things in the galaxy are kinda kriffed up again,” Poe says, a deep frown etched across his features. “You always said it would. _There will always be war somewhere, even if it’s not officially declared_ , you said. You were right.”

Poe sighs and runs his hand over the scruff on his face. His father would be disappointed that Poe had attended a Resistance meeting without shaving. It was highly improper for someone of his title and station.

“I think I’m gonna have to do some things I don’t want to do to try to keep the peace,” he continues. “Just like you.”

His mother had left a tiny planet once owned by the Empire to form a diplomatic union with the good guys — the people she shared ideals with, the people with whom she truly belonged. Shortly after their union, her planet had been obliterated by the Death Star before its own untimely demise. Thankfully, she got a happy marriage out of the deal. Poe surmised he wouldn’t be quite so lucky.

He frowns. “I wish I knew what to do,” he says. “How did you do it?”

He hears a soft whirring noise behind him, along with the crunching of sticks. Soon after, the sounds were followed by concerned beeps. A moment later, BB-8 appears at his side, affectionately bumping into his calf once again.

Poe smiles sadly and drops a hand to the droid’s head. “Hey, buddy.” BB-8 tips his head up and beeps. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

BB-8 makes a disbelieving sound and nudges his leg lovingly. Poe smiles and pats him again, trying his best to stay focused. 

“I dunno, ma. Maybe I’m not as cut out to be Duke as you and dad thought I was,” Poe says. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped between them. “I’d rather just serve in the Republic Fleet. I can fly. I’m the best pilot in the Resistance! But I’m not allowed to do it anymore because I could actually die. Kinda sucks.”

A wind whips through the garden, sending leaves soaring and swirling around him. He closes his eyes and savors the breeze, shivering as it permeates the thin fabric of his tunic and vest. Most of the time, Yavin is warm and comforting, but a chill sets in when the sun begins to set.

BB-8 beeps, this time passing along a message from a droid inside the temple. Poe’s father is looking for him, hoping for a debrief of some sort, since he’d had to miss the Resistance meeting himself. It’s not going to go over well, of that Poe is sure.

“Alright,” Poe says, letting his droid know that he’d heard. “Let’s go, then.”

Poe takes another deep breath and looks around the garden. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that his mother was right there with him. He could feel her next to him, a warm, comforting presence. “I’ll talk to you again soon, ma. I love you.”

Slowly, dreading the conversation ahead, Poe begins his slow walk back into the Temple. He knows that whatever comes next — for him or for the galaxy — he probably won’t like it, and it definitely won’t be easy.


	2. Act I, Chapter II: Antiquated Notions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News of Ben and Tallie's divorce has made its way to the First Order. All the talk of marriage gets the elders within the First Order anxious and thinking, and the pressure on Hux and Phasma to find spouses doubles. Hux escapes his parents for a few hours, to visit Phasma on Parnassos, where they can gossip over liquor in the serenity of Phasma's veranda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place at the same time as chapter one.

The damp, dreary serenity of Arkanis doesn’t appeal to many. Often deprived of sunlight, its inhabitants are fair-skinned and conditioned to enjoy activities usually best experienced indoors. Great emphasis is put on things like music, art, theatre, and education, because they have the most time in which to enjoy it, while the rain pours down outside. Interior spaces are immaculately designed and preserved, an art form in themselves.

And no building on Arkanis is more opulent a piece of art than the Arkan City Estate. Home to the reigning family of Arkanis and the Regency Worlds, it has housed the Hux family for hundreds of years.

In his private wing, Armitage Hux, Crown Prince of Arkanis, lazily wakes to the usual soft rhythmic patter of rain against the glass panes of his bedroom window. The curtains are still open; the sun shines so rarely that there’s no point in closing them save for privacy, and the people of Arkanis are not invasive of the royal family’s privacy. Besides, the lustrous white silk is far too sheer to block out any rays of sunshine, anyway. Like most decor designed for lush, sunny planets, the curtains serve a primarily decorative, not practical, purpose on Arkanis.

Hux takes his time waking, knowing that his day — like most days — will be uneventful. So long as his father still reigns, very little responsibility will fall to Hux unless his father commands it.

His vibrant red hair splays against the luxurious cotton of his pillows and bedsheets, stark in color against the cool grey color of the linens. After taking a heavy breath and wiping the sleep from his eyes, Hux rolls to his side to watch the rain fall. It drapes down the window panes in streaks, painting the scenery in an abstract style, blurring the features of the world outside. 

The view from his room is truly spectacular, even obscured by raindrops — the beautiful rolling hills of deep green and dark brown, the foliage and soil mixing to create a beautiful cool palette of life in the countryside. In the distance, Arkan City sprawls out along the banks of the hills, surrounding and protecting the Estate. Every room in the home of the royal family has a view of some portion of the city — a sobering reminder of the vast expanse of the royal family’s kingdom, of the people they’re sworn to protect.

Hux yawns and takes his time waking. He ruminates on the day ahead; he and Phasma had communicated briefly about the possibility of dinner or drinks — what was one more superfluous trip to Parnassos, really? His people didn’t care. The Hux family and their immediate alliance with the First Order when it emerged from the ashes of the Empire was what had brought prosperity back to the planet. The royal family of Arkanis could get away with a lot.

Unlike most royals in the galaxy, Hux didn’t have a personal attendant or droid to help him prepare for his day. He was very particular, and had gone through several attendants in quick succession before his mother suggested he go a little while without one, so he’d appreciate the help when they _could_ find someone who could endure him. So far, he was no worse for it. In fact, he appreciated having to take care of himself because it gave him something to do during his tediously dull days as Crown Prince. His father insisted on taking care of everything without Armitage’s help.

Hux slowly separated himself from the warm cotton of his bedsheets, reveling in the cool air of the room against his skin. Most hated the feeling, but Hux found it invigorating. Goosebumps pebbled across his flesh and a shiver down his spine woke him up fully in mere seconds.

The warmth of his morning shower chased the goosebumps away, and after he’d washed in the fresher until his pale skin turned pink from the heat, Hux enjoyed the luxury of his plush bathrobe as he continued to meander his quarters in preparation for the day. 

Most days, he wore the same old thing: some variation on a black semi-formal suit, the usual garb of most modern royals in the galaxy. But he had very few plans for the day, so he oped for something a little more casual. Clad in black trousers and a deep sapphire sweater, Hux was nearly prepared for his day. All that he required now was to style his hair and take in his breakfast, which was no doubt already prepared, warm and waiting for him.

Before leaving his room, Hux took in the sight of his reflection. The blue sweater he’d chosen accented his red hair and green eyes nicely. Recently, he’d taken to liking the sight of his reflection, so long as he could ignore the parts of him made up of his father’s traits. He quite disliked the man. But anytime Hux got too comfortable with his own reflection, he’d hear his mother’s voice in his head. _Enjoy looking young_ , she’d say. _It goes away as soon as you’re crowned King._

Negotiating fair and amenable deals for the people of Arkanis in the Galactic Senate was not easy thanks to their alliance with the First Order. In the Senate, those allied with the Resistance and any neutral planets all opposed First Order allies on principles. But not maintaining such an alliance would devastate Arkanis, who made most of their profits thanks to First Order support. That was far more importance than a little Senate opposition.

Hux’s footsteps echo in the vast, empty halls of the Estate, the stone beneath his leather shoes treaded upon by generation after generation of Hux men before him. The walls are lined with their family legacy, artwork of every king to live in the Arkan City Estate guiding his way to the main area of their home. 

Predictably, Brendol and Elizabeth Hux are already at the dining table. His parents wake every day before he does, and take in the morning’s news on their datapads as they enjoy a leisurely breakfast. 

After taking his seat opposite his father at the table, one of the kitchen staff pours Hux some caf and offers him his own datapad, so he can join his parents in reading the news. One of the few duties of the Crown Prince is to stay up to date on the goings-on in the galaxy. Every morning, he reads the headlines and skims the stories, very little of it actually affecting him, and even less of it of interest to him at all. That morning, however, one particular headline nearly caused Hux to choke on his caf.

**ALDERAAN EMPIRE IN DOUBT?**

Legal officials in Aldera report that Crown

Prince Ben Solo and wife Tallie Lintra, Junior

Senator of Coruscant, have filed for a divorce.

Married less than a year ago, the two were

expected to lead a new wave of young leaders

in the Senate and unify parties on both sides

of the galaxy’s Peace Accords. Instead, the

Senate may have just become dangerously

divided. Lintra is also running for D’Acy’s spot

as Governor of Chandrila. No reports yet as to

how this divorce may affect her standings in

the polls. Lintra, Solo, and their representatives

have all declined to comment.

Hux reads the article word by word a couple of times over before looking up at his parents. Brendol, seated stiffly at the head of the table, doesn’t even bother looking his way. The news likely disinterested him, as most Resistance news stories did. He didn’t view them as a viable threat, nor a group worth his time.

Hux’s mother Elizabeth, however, has much to say, but waits patiently for her opportunity. She lounges elegantly in a vintage armchair next to the window. Her pale grey-blue dress matches the clouds outside and complements her still-lustrous red hair beautifully. She pulls her long, curled hair over her shoulder and meets her son’s eyes — she’s practically bursting with the desire to speak. He notes the amusement and sparkle in her gaze, her clear joy in the misfortune of their adversaries. “It’s sad, isn’t it?” she asks, her tone full of as much amusement as her gaze.

“Tragic,” Hux replies in kind. “This is definitely going to hurt her campaign, isn’t it?”

Elizabeth sips daintily from her porcelain teacup as she considers. Their conversation moves at a leisurely pace, just as everything else in Hux’s life, it seems. They have all the time in the world.

“I suppose,” she says finally. “I think she’s still going to perform strongly in the race, though. The endorsement from D’Acy herself is very beneficial to her case.”

They speak, of course, in reference to the forthcoming election on Chandrila, for a new governor to lead for a five-year term. Governor D’Acy is coming to the end of hers, and there are many planets across the galaxy who are eager to see another ally of the Resistance in the seat, all campaigning heavily for Tallie Lintra. Ever since her debut as Junior Senator of Coruscant alongside Senator Amilyn Holdo, Lintra has been a galaxy favorite. She’s young, pretty, strong, and has a lot of fresh ideas. Though most would have needed to marry Ben Solo in order to win the galaxy’s favor, she did not. But she’d married him anyway, to prevent anyone else from having the opportunity. Much to Hux’s amusement, the marriage may do more harm to her than good, in the end.

“When _you_ marry, you cannot divorce,” Elizabeth says in no uncertain terms.

Though he hears the finality and authority in his mother’s voice, Hux is bored and can’t resist stirring the pot just a little. 

“None of the monarchical rules say divorce isn’t allowed,” he argues.

Hux sips on his caf and delights in his mother’s quick wit when she responds. “It’s not a rule of the monarchy, it’s a rule from your mother. You must have a long, successful, _scandal-free_ reign. I will not accept anything less,” she says, as though she has some sort of leverage she can use to actually get him to behave.

Though his mother certainly isn’t making a joke, Hux laughs. Marrying at all sounds like such a far-off thing. Unlike the Queens and Princesses, Hux has all the time in the world to marry and produce an heir. With his thirtieth birthday on the horizon, Hux doesn’t have any worries. It’s Phasma who needs to begin worrying, and speaking of Phasma —

“I think I’m going to make a trip to Parnassos today,” Hux says, more as a courtesy than a request for permission.

“Don’t forget we have a meeting with Supreme Leader Snoke in three days,” Brendol barks, not bothering to look up from his datapad.

“It’s just for the day,” Hux argues. 

“It’s never just for the day,” Brendol snaps back. “You and Phasma spend too much time together. It’s no wonder she can’t find a suitor.”

Elizabeth smiles conspiratorially. “Unless…”

“No, mother.”

Hux looks firmly at her. They may be the best of friends, but Hux has no desire to marry and produce heirs with Phasma, and he knows for a fact that she feels the very same way about him.

His breakfast consumed, Hux stands to leave the room. “Remember,” Brendol calls out over his shoulder after Hux. “ _The Supremacy_ —”

“Three days. I know,” Hux calls back to his father boredly.

He’s not a child, and is still endlessly annoyed when his father treats him like he is. His patience for warnings and reminders wore thin years ago. Fighting did him no good, though, so Hux just took his opportunity and left the room.

Though he’d never officially confirmed any plans with Phasma, Hux knows there’s no need. Phasma rarely leaves Parnassos, her desire to protect her place as the sole surviving member of her family far too strong to risk leaving and losing her life or being usurped. Life on Parnassos is in a constant state of risk and uncertainty due to all the nuclear-powered machines currently in use by the Con Star Mining Corporation, the primary employer and business on Parnassos. Phasma is required to continually work to ensure safe practices, to prevent global nuclear disaster. 

Recently, an independent researcher had released a report stating the fragile state of the planet’s ecosystem and what could happen should any one piece of nuclear machinery fail, and it would be catastrophic. As a result, the paranoia amongst the citizens was at an all-time high, and Phasma had her work cut out for her.

Though originally Hux had only planned to visit for the day, he was going to change that and stay until he was expected for their audience with Snoke on _The Supremacy_ , purely to bother his father. Besides, Phasma also had to go to the meeting — all the leaders of the First Order and allied planets were expected to be there.

He takes his time preparing a bag, the steady patter of rain hitting his windows like music to his ears. There was an actual storm approaching — his favorite. It would delay his departure slightly, but he had all the time in the world, and could watch the storm roll through.

Once his bag was packed, Hux did just that, taking a seat in the plush armchair next to his window overlooking the rolling hills and Arkan City beyond. It’s peaceful, watching sheets of rain plummet from the sky, the forks of lightning large and bright across the sky. Puddles form in the small divots in the yard, and Hux smiles lazily as he thinks about how he used to play in them as a child, just to make a mess and bother his parents.

It’s easy for Hux to lose himself to the soothing sounds of the thunderstorm rolling through, so much so that he barely hears the sound of his door as it opens. Gentle footsteps on the stone floor of his bedroom alert him to the visitor; Hux looks up to see who it is, and is unsurprised at his mother’s presence. “Have a minute?” she asks.

Hux gestures to the plush armchair opposite him. Elizabeth walks gracefully to the chair, gliding across the stone floor with every ounce of grace she possesses. She truly embodies a Queen, both in appearance and behavior. 

Ironically, she’d been a mere kitchen worker before she’d met Brendol Hux and her life changed completely. That was the good thing about life as a royal — though it had once been a requirement that royals marry other royals, the pool of marriage candidates grew smaller as time wore on. Arranged marriages were a rarity now, and marriages for love — regardless of status or title — were most common.

Hux didn’t particularly want to marry at all, but he needed an heir, so such was his burden.

“Be patient with your father,” she says, putting Hux in a sour mood right from the very start. “He’s under a lot of pressure right now.”

Keeping a blank expression proves difficult for Hux. His mother has been sticking up for Brendol for years, even though he doesn’t deserve the kindness. He’s been under a lot of pressure since becoming King — in Hux’s opinion, he should be much better at keeping himself in check than he is. 

“Anything else?” Hux asks coolly.

By now, he knows his mother is aware that defending his father will only draw ire. The true test is whether she’ll continue.

“I think perhaps if you insist on continuing to visit Phasma, you should make an effort to help her find a partner,” his mother advises, her tone patronizingly gentle. It grates on Hux’s nerves.

“She doesn’t need my help,” he scoffs. “She’s perfectly capable on her own.”

Elizabeth sighs. “That may be true. But until you make it clear to her suitors that you are not a threat, they’ll see you as one. Half the galaxy already thinks you two are going to marry. You’re hurting her chances at a smart match.”

Hux fixes a strong, knowing gaze on his mother. He hopes she’ll actually listen to what he’s about to say. 

“Any man who feels threatened by my friendship with her is too weak for her. Have you ever considered that we haven’t changed our friendship while she’s been dating for a reason?” Hux pauses to let his words sink in. “Phasma has incredibly high standards. She’ll be fine. This is what she wants. Stop meddling.”

Elizabeth sighs, her expression bearing disappointment, which only serves to annoy Hux more. “You should consider that perhaps it is hurting _your_ prospects as well,” she says in response.

Hux’s face sours. “I don’t care.”

“You _should_ ,” his mother admonishes. “The future of our house and our planet rest on our shoulders.”

“I had no idea,” Hux responds sarcastically. He waves his hand dismissively and adds, “I’ll find someone eventually.”

Elizabeth stands quickly, startling her son as she does. Her blue eyes are fierce and Hux can tell he’s just pushed back one too many times. “Well, I hope you find yourself a match before I find one for you. The Hux line _will_ live on, even if I need to return the family to antiquated customs in order to make it happen! This is your only warning, Armitage.”

Hux watches, dumbfounded, as his mother storms angrily from his room. He knows better than to underestimate her, but assumes he’ll have some time to at least half-heartedly date around before she tries her hand at matchmaking.

He sighs. Dating is onerous, and a million times more difficult since he comes from a royal family. Finding someone genuinely interested in him is a massive chore. Perhaps Phasma could set him up.

Looking to the window, Hux sees that during his conversation with his mother, the storm has passed and the rain is now beginning to dissipate. Pleased with this development, he uses his comm to call their butler, to arrange a private shuttle ride to Parnassos. He’ll be at Phasma’s palace in no time.

——

Phasma is, predictably, in her library when Hux arrives. It’s been a long time since she felt the need to actually greet him in person when he visits — Hux is the only diplomat for whom she doesn’t do this. They’re beyond visitors or acquaintances and well into the territory of old friends.

She’s sitting in her favorite leather armchair when he arrives, reading an old bound volume rather than a holobook. She says she likes the way the pages of flimsi sound when she turns them. Hux doesn’t understand the appeal — they’re all just dusty and require attention in order to keep them from being damaged.

The Scyre Royal Palace is similar to Hux’s own home in so many ways — plenty of detailed stonework and immaculate art on the walls, barely a soul to be seen in the corridors. Generations of silver-blonde monarchs immortalized in artwork in the many hallways, with ceilings stretching to the heavens. And even more so than the Arkan City Estate, it’s quiet. No rain, no parents. Phasma is the only resident, and keeps a very small service crew. 

Mitaka, her personal assistant, bows once he’s delivered Hux to Phasma in the library. Not a word is said in the entire exchange. Hux prefers it that way.

“Hux,” she greets blankly.

“Phasma.”

Their friendship is an odd one — deep, but not expressive. Phasma closes her book and looks up at Hux. Though she’s not smiling, she does look pleased to see him. She’s wearing the same black pantsuit she always does — Hux is convinced she just has dozens of the same suit in her wardrobe — the shiny chrome accents shining beneath the cool white lights in the room.

“Shall we gossip here, or over some drinks on the veranda?”

Hux smirks. “Veranda. Let’s drink to the demise of the Resistance with some of your best whisky, shall we?”

Phasma grins wickedly.

The sun is setting by the time they get out to the veranda. Phasma pours them each a glass of whisky, pleased to see that Mitaka has already gone to the trouble of preparing the lanterns for them, so they can see. While she pours their drinks, Hux looks out at the flat, green plains of Parnassos. Though he prefers the climate of Arkanis, he can’t help but think that it’d be a shame for all of this to be destroyed by a nuclear accident. But Phasma is diligent — she won’t let that happen.

“So… Ben Solo, huh?” Phasma asks, stepping up behind Hux with a glass of whisky extended to him.

Hux takes it, chuckling at the disjointed transition. “Indeed.”

“He never struck me as the type to go against what darling mummy tells him to do,” Phasma says, apropos of nothing.

Hux hums in agreement after taking a small sip of his whisky. In all their diplomatic meetings in the Senate, Ben was a tall, brooding figure of a man, one who was all bark but no bite. And constantly tired and obeying his mother’s every order, now that Hux really thought about it.

“Do we know that mummy dearest told him to marry Lintra in the first place?” Hux asks, playing the devil’s advocate just for fun.

Phasma stands at the railing next to Hux, the gentle breeze blowing just a few of her short, blonde curls out of place. She elbows Hux and says, “It’s not the motivation to get married that matters. It’s that there is no way Organa would allow a divorce, especially right now.”

Hux turns his head to the side ever so slightly. “Why does right now matter?”

Phasma sips from her glass and then turns away from the railing. She opts for a wicker chair and settles into it. The material creaks under new weight until she settles in. “Because,” Phasma explains slowly. “If Lintra loses the Chandrila election, the Resistance loses power in the Senate because they have no alternative candidates that we know of. Royals can’t run. She wants Lintra to stay in favor which means she cannot want this divorce.”

Hux turns, leaning against the railing, his arms crossed as his back now faces the beautiful view. “I suppose,” Hux concedes. “The Resistance really has no other candidates? I thought they had annoyingly large numbers right now.”

“Well, yes,” Phasma agrees. She crosses one leg over the other, foot bouncing to an unheard melody. “But most are royals. Not qualified for a senatorial seat on a different planet.”

Hux frowns. How had he overlooked such a fatal flaw in the Resistance’s leadership? “Do you think the Supreme Leader has a candidate?”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Phasma agrees enthusiastically. “If not he himself, then probably Kylo Ren. Or maybe Canady. I’ve heard whispers.”

“Not Peavey?”

Phasma snorts. “Peavey loves one thing: flying. He’d never take a job that stops him from doing that, not even for just a five-year term.”

Hux shrugs and sips his whisky. He hadn’t considered that. Most would give up just about anything to run a planet, but it’s true: Peavey has a one-track mind. Finally, Hux responds, “Kylo Ren is hardly Senate ready. His temper alone should be means to disqualify him.”

“I know, but he’s Snoke’s pet. He can use the Force. Two years in the Senate and he can mind-trick everyone to our cause.”

Hux makes a disgusted face and shakes his head. “No thanks,” he says, walking to the empty chair next to Phasma. It makes the same creaking sound as he lowers himself to the seat as it did for her. “I’d rather rise to power in a natural way.”

Amused, Phasma replies, “The Force is the most natural thing in the galaxy.”

Hux takes another sip of whisky and as he swallows, says, “Well, I hate it.”

They enjoy silence for a few minutes, no sounds but the calls of birds and the gentle winds rolling through the plains of Parnassos. It isn’t until his entire glass of whisky is gone that Hux speaks again. “Mother is bored. She’s meddling again.”

“Is she?” Phasma asks, an eyebrow quirked in mild interest. “What now?”

“Our love lives,” Hux says glumly.

He sets his empty glass on the small side table between them. “ _Our_?” Phasma echoes.

Nodding, Hux explains, “Yes. First, she says I’m interfering in your love life and I scare away any of your prospective husbands.” Phasma snorts with laughter. “ _And_ , apparently I’m not taking my royal duty seriously enough and if I don’t find a spouse and produce an heir, she’s going to find someone for me.”

“Ouch,” Phasma says, sounding anything but empathetic. “Threatening with an arranged marriage is harsh. Also, we’ve discussed this. You weed out the insecure morons.”

Hux scowls irritably at Phasma. He wishes she’d take this more seriously. “I told her that,” he snaps. “She’s getting anxious for the both of us.”

“She just doesn’t want the First Order to lose power,” Phasma says, brushing the whole issue off like it’s nothing.

“Yes, well, they’re not even grey yet, never mind dead. I have plenty of time.”

Phasma grins wickedly. “She just wants to be a grandmother, I bet.”

“Well the joke’s on her,” Hux snaps, reaching over to steal Phasma’s glass and take another sip of whisky. “If I have my way, I’ll marry a man and wait until she dies to adopt a child. That’ll show her.”

Phasma steals his empty glass from the table and stands to refill it. Brow quirked in confusion, she glances over her shoulder and asks, “I thought you liked your mum?”

“I do,” Hux sighs. “I just don’t like when she meddles. This is all I can do to retaliate.”

Phasma shrugs in concession. “I suppose. That, and marrying a man. I thought you were pan? Y’know, any gender, any species?”

Hux holds up the empty glass he now holds in his hand, prompting Phasma for a refill. “I am. It’s just that male humans — or most males, really — come with the natural inability to procreate with me. Meaning I then have much more time before I’m expected to have children.”

Slowly, Phasma adds some whisky to his glass. “You don’t really want children,” she observes.

Shrugging, Hux takes a sip and hesitates. “I don’t know if that’s entirely accurate. I’d be a better father than mine is or ever was. I just don’t know why mother thinks it should be so immediate after marriage.”

Phasma takes her seat again, and by the way she heaves a sigh and crosses her leg one over the other, Hux already knows he won’t like what she’s about to say. “It’s not about you. It’s about your people. How do you show them that your marriage and reign are strong and secure? Produce an heir as soon as it’s appropriate. It shows you take your duty seriously. That you’re thinking about the future of your planet. And it helps if you do it when at a reasonably young age yourself so you can teach the child and they become a competent, fully-grown being before they’re handed a bloody _planet_.”

Scowling, Hux remarks, “Ugh. You sound like my mother. You’re only two years older than me, so stop that.”

“Yes. I am. And I’m aware of everything I just said _every day_ because I have the added pressure of the fact that my biological clock is ticking,” Phasma remarks. “I mean, even you heard the whispers surrounding Solo and Lintra a few months ago. Still no announcement of a pregnancy? That’s why this divorce was not that shocking.”

Hux sighs. She makes a good point. The legitimacy of their marriage was already beginning to be called to question. Finally, he laments, “Dating sucks.”

“Trust me, I know.”

After a pregnant pause, Hux remarks, “I forbid you to tell anyone I said this, but — now that I think about it, I can see why Solo and Lintra divorced. Maintaining a relationship sounds exhausting.”

Phasma chuckles. “Use your blood to your advantage. Pick some poor shopgirl who just wants to have your babies. Buy her what she wants. She’ll give you heirs, you’ll barely need to maintain anything because the credits will keep her happy, and darling mummy will get right off your back.”

“I’m going to throw that advice right back at you, you know,” Hux quips.

“Eh,” Phasma groans. “Men have issues with the whole, _I’d be his rule and he’d be under my reign_ thing. It’s not the same.”

“Sure it is,” Hux says with amusement. He takes a sip of whisky and then says, “Just get yourself a submissive man and you’re good.”

Phasma groans. “That’s most definitely not my type, and you know that! I want big and strong. Beefy. Tough. Could match me in a fight.”

Hux snorts. “You want to get fucked. Well.”

“Your point?”

Both burst out laughing, whisky in their veins, problems masked by the bliss of alcohol, laughter, and companionship.

If only they would work as a couple, Hux laments. That would make their lives so much easier.


	3. Act I, Chapter III: Like We're Kids Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News that Starkiller Base has been completed has made its way to the Resistance. Leia, Han, and the other Resistance leaders must find a way to keep the Peace Accords with the First Order intact. Meanwhile, Ben reunites with his childhood friend Poe Dameron, and together the two of them try to forget the stresses of life as royals for just one night.

Ever since the meeting where Leia scolded Ben for his abrupt decision to divorce from Tallie Lintra, she and Han have seen hide nor hair of their son. His curious absence doesn’t go unnoticed by either of them, though they’ve long since given up on trying to track him down when he disappears. He could be brooding in his room, but the more logical answer is that he’s probably on Yavin IV with his childhood best friend Poe. 

Leia walks into the large sitting room of the palace to find her husband sprawled out across a sofa. He’s eating some sort of crispy snack, the crumbs of it fallen on his tunic and vest. He looks a mess, but not in the same way as his son. His son looks weary whereas Han just looks lazy. Either state is an irritation to Leia. 

“You know, we _do_ have a reputation to uphold,” she scolds as she enters the room.

She’s all business in her outfit, yet again, wearing trousers and a vest, heir hair in braids and buns atop her head. She looks regal, but powerful. 

“You’re the royal, not me,” Han snarks, licking whatever seasoning was on the snack from the tips of his fingers.

Leia scowls at her husband, still not entirely sure why she chooses to put up with him. “You’re a viceroy, you should start acting like one,” she says, snapping the bowl of snacks from where it had lain precariously on his stomach.

“Alright, what’s got you so anxious?” Han asks, sitting up in his seat. 

He leans forward, watching as Leia begins pacing, the bowl perched between her arm and her hip as she walks. He sounds gruff and a little annoyed that she’s invaded his afternoon of chomping on snacks and watching a holovid. He prefers to shirk royal duty whenever necessary, and he’d thought he’d be able to that day. 

Clearly, he was wrong.

Leia sighs, not entirely sure how to put everything into words. There’s a lot going on, none of which is all that bad, but compounded could prove to be disastrous for the Resistance. Her head is full of it all, and she can only hope that venting it all to Han will help her make sense of it and formulate a plan, a way to push the Resistance through it as best she can.

“The First Order finished Starkiller Base. We’ve got to strengthen our peace with them or else we risk having our planets picked off one by one.”

She says it somberly, sounding like she’d rather be delivering any other news but that.

“Well… how do we do that?” Han asks. He makes it sound so simple. “Marry Ben off? Maybe that’ll make people forget about the divorce.”

Leia shakes her head. She walks to the window and sets the bowl down on a side table near to her. Gazing out the window, Leia takes in the warmth from the sun overhead, still high in the sky. She hears Han behind her, walking across the stone flooring. The window arches two stories above them, extravagant and opulent, out of place against the dull practicality of their clothes, the worn, weary expressions on their faces. The Organa-Solos have always challenged the expected appearance of the Royal Family of Alderaan.

She leans against the edge of the window, parts of the velvet curtain trapped beneath her crossed arms. Even when she feels Han’s presence at her side, she doesn’t look over.

“They’d be insulted if we offered Ben. Otherwise I’d do it, just to teach him a lesson,” Leia says, lacking vindication in her voice regardless of how angry she is with him. “No, because of the divorce we’re going to have to offer up someone else.”

Han lets out a breath. He knows who she means, and how he’ll take it. Poe Dameron doesn’t like being told what to do, and that’s something all of them learned when he was quite young. Poor Ben hadn’t stood a chance, trying to get Poe to play Jedi when he’d wanted to play pilots. That childhood fight had nearly destroyed their relationship.

“Forgive me, Queen and Viceroy —”

The robotic voice interrupting their conversation is abruptly cut off by a terse, deep voice they’d recognize anywhere.

“I told you _not_ to tell them I came back, Threepio.”

“Oh, Master Ben, I —”

Han and Leia turn to see their protocol droid standing in the doorway, all shining gold metal and awkward, flailing limbs. He’s standing across the threshold, torn between speaking to Han and Leia, and obeying Ben’s orders.

Ben stomps past the doorway, pointedly looking down at the ground the whole time.

“Master Ben, if there’s anything —”

“There’s not.”

“Oh, then how about —”

Threepio’s nervous questioning was driving Ben mad, both his parents already knew. But sometimes when he’d misbehaved, they’d let Threepio spin just a little, to get some satisfaction out of the situation, out of irritating their son.

“No.”

Ben’s long legs are no match for C-3P0, and he manages to get away fairly easily. He escapes up to his room before Threepio can nervously scuttle out of the sitting room.

That evening at dinner, it’s a shock to both Han and Leia that Ben chooses to show his face and spend a meal with them. Even on a good day, he really only did it half the time. Granted, before the divorce it was because he was spending time with Tallie on Coruscant, but the rest of the time it was because he felt he was too old for family dinners. It made him feel like a child.

Han spends most of the time talking about improvements he and his Wookiee friend Chewbacca are making on the Millennium Falcon, his dad’s vintage ship from before he married into the royal family. Leia had disdainfully agreed to let him keep it, something for him to tinker on, some reminder that he hadn’t totally given up his previous life. 

It’s honestly one of the better family meals Ben’s ever endured, at least to start. The ones where he can eat in peace without a million questions are always the best. He finishes his wine and sets his napkin on the table, ready to leave without ever having to say a word, but he’s stopped right at that moment.

“Don’t forget, Ben, we’ve got a final fitting for your wedding attire tomorrow after breakfast,” Leia says.

She’s watching him closely, following his movements as though she thinks another word might spook him. 

Ben sighs and tries to stay calm; she’s not actually scolding him, just reminding him of something that he’d quite honestly forgotten, and that’s her job as his mother. After years of wanting her to be more motherly, he forces himself to stay calm because she’s doing exactly that. 

“Right. The Wexley wedding.”

“Yes, that one,” Leia nods. “The one that will last.”

There it is.

Ben rolls his eyes and has half a mind to just leave now, but he’s feeling petulant and argumentative in his sleepy state, so he sticks around. “Yes, it will, because they met and fell in love like normal people.”

“You’ll never meet and fall in love if you keep walking around looking like you’re ready to murder someone,” Leia says snarkily.

She’s not afraid to tell it how it is, even to her son, and Ben can’t stand that. He knows his mother is always right, about almost everything in the galaxy, so her arguments and criticisms are especially painful. Sometimes he wishes she’d coddle him, even just a little. Maybe it’d make it easier for him to not resent her.

“I can’t just jump back from this. Tallie and I may not have liked each other romantically but we got along,” Ben argues. “I know you think the divorce didn’t hurt me for some reason, but it did, okay?”

He frowns and for a moment, allows himself to look vulnerable. “I’d tried to forget about the wedding because it’s a reminder that mine failed.”

“You let it fail. Marriages are hard work.”

“Yeah,” Ben scoffs. “I’ve seen that.”

Han looks especially grumpy at that, and looks up through narrowed eyes as he says in a warning tone, “Ben…”

“Fine. Tomorrow I’ll do my fitting, and then I’m going to fly to Yavin for a day,” Ben snaps. 

He’s an adult who shouldn’t need to strike deals with his parents about where he’s going and when, but he wants the conversation to end quickly, so it’s what he has to do.

Leia glances at Han, who already knows that Poe is probably in no state to have visitors. But if anyone is going to be more help than harm when Poe is in a bad mood, it’s Ben. They can brood together, grumbling about their parents and marriage and all the other crappy stuff they’re going through. 

“Deal,” Leia says, like she’s negotiating a deal. “As long as you come back the day before the Wexley wedding. We’re going to arrive as a family.”

“Fine.”

——

The suit fitting actually goes by fairly quickly, which pleases Ben immensely. They’re traditional robes once worn by his grandfather, Bail Organa. The man passed away a couple of years prior, but he’d been warm and kind to Ben, more understanding than Leia and less afraid of affection than Han. Though Ben would rather wear all black, he agrees to wear the decorative robes because of his connection to his grandfather, the sentimental value they hold for him.

Once that’s finished, the opulent drapery of deep purple and lilac pinned with the last changes necessary to fit him beautifully for the wedding, Ben goes to the hangar. Rose isn’t there this time, much to Ben’s disappointment. Her older sister Paige is, though, and helps him leave the planet in Yellow Leader easily.

Ben relishes the feeling of the yoke in his hand, the way the ship responds so easily to his commands. He’s always wondered if it’s the Force or something else, but it doesn’t much matter — he’ll never know life without the Force, even if he’s chosen not to use it. He loves flying, loves the freedom of it, loves the way Alderaan looks as he leaves it behind.

The route to Yavin IV is etched forever into Ben’s memory; he’s been flying there since his mother let him in the cockpit of a shuttle. Years of practice allow Ben to lose focus as he flies, letting his mind wander. He feels like the past few days have been a blur, like he hasn’t been able to fully cope with the divorce, never mind the rest of the events in the galaxy.

The family’s droid, R2-D2, beeps something snarky and sarcastic at Ben, pulling him from what had been a rather introspective moment, urging him to be careful as his ship soars a little too close to First Order planets. Cautiously, Ben moves as far from them as possible; the fewer reasons they give the First Order to retaliate against the Resistance, the better.

Landing on Yavin IV is a relief to Ben; he hadn’t patched through his comms to Poe’s to even ask if he could visit, he just assumed Poe would be around. Ben was relieved to see Black Leader parked on the tarmac. If Poe had left the planet, he hadn’t used his own ship. But most signs pointed to Poe being on planet, likely in the palace.

Ever since he’d had his own ship, Ben had been making trips to Yavin IV to visit Poe. They’d grown up together, Ben’s mother a good friend and mentor of Poe’s mother. They’d often play in Poe’s backyard, behind the Royal Temple of Yavin, near the Force-sensitive tree gifted to the family by Ben’s uncle, Luke. But all of that was nothing compared to the adventures they had at boarding school, the relief Ben had felt, knowing he had a friend in a place full of people more than willing to pick on Ben’s ears, or his nose, or his height.

Poe isn’t out on the tarmac, though, which is curious to Ben. It wasn’t like Poe to spend time indoors; he much preferred being out and about, being active. It was the opposite of Ben, but they always managed to find a good compromise.

It’s not a good sign, Poe sequestering himself indoors, and Ben can’t fathom what the problem could be. He walks towards the palace, familiar with the building in a way only a family friend could be. Ben knows all the secret tunnels and passageways, places he and Poe had snuck through during the summers they were home from boarding school, when they were half the size they were now and didn’t carry the weight of their planets on their shoulders.

Poe’s room is three quarters of the way up the Northern Tower, and Ben’s memorized the path there by now. Just as he’s beginning to worry that Poe left planet on some other aircraft, he hears a familiar voice. It’s Poe. He’s having a conversation, with his attendant Finn no doubt. Ben wishes he had an assistant to talk to, someone who’d listen and could calm him like Poe says Finn can do. The closest thing Ben has is C-3P0, and that droid is more neurotic than Ben can handle, even on a good day.

He takes his time walking to the end of the corridor, letting them have a few more moments to their conversation. He’s not sure why; Ben is fairly certain his problems are far greater than Finn’s, but he wonders if maybe Poe isn’t having a good time of things, either. 

Ready to make his presence known, Ben knocks on the doorway to Poe’s open bedroom door. Both men look up. Pleasant surprise flashes in Poe’s eyes, as opposed to slight frustration in Finn’s. 

“I’ll leave you two,” Finn says politely. 

He bows to Ben as most service staff do, and then leaves the room.

Ben steps aside to let Finn through the doorway before facing Poe. The sun is on the other side of the tower, meaning there’s no warmth or sunlight draping across Poe’s bedroom like there so often is. It sets a chill in the air, and Ben’s glad he left his traveling cloak on. 

“Long time no see, Solo.”

Ben looks up, but he doesn’t know what to say. It’s unfair to just start unloading on Poe, but he didn’t visit for any other reason but that. So in the interest of being polite, he just nods, “Yeah.”

BB-8 rolls across the room, excitedly beeping at the presence of Ben. Though he was acquired for Poe as a means of therapy and assistance after Poe’s mother passed, he’s always been there for Ben too, anytime he’d visit Poe. Some days, BB-8 was hesitant to roll so much as an inch away from Ben’s leg. Unlike Threepio, this is one droid whose presence Ben appreciates and enjoys. 

“Hey, Beebee-Ate,” Ben says, looking down at the droid.

“C’mon in, have a seat,” Poe offers.

He gestures around his room; it’s not like the rooms of most royals. It’s rustic, lacking in the opulence that even Ben grew up with on Alderaan. The linens and draperies are made of the finest fabrics, of course, but the walls are slate grey stone, like most of the temple, and much of the furniture is forged from stone as well, with cushions atop them for comfort. 

By the window, where a cart of games had stood years ago, Poe now housed several bottles of liquor, likely of varying degrees of finery. After a few trips off-world with some of the other pilots in the Resistance fleet during his time in the Flight Academy, he’d acquired a taste for sub-par liquor to which Ben had never really grown accustomed. 

“Do you want a drink?” Poe offers, as Ben takes a seat on one of the stone chairs near the door to the balcony. 

The doors to the balcony are swung wide open, letting in a nice calm breeze from outside. It’s chilly, but the cool air wakes Ben, soothes him. As he sits, angling so the curtains blowing in the breeze don’t swing into his face, BB-8 rolls up to him and settles next to his leg. Now closer to the ground, Ben takes that moment to pat BB-8 in greeting, to which the droid beeps in a pleased-sounding manner.

“A drink before the sun reaches its peak?” Ben asks, his expression blank as he looks up. 

Poe hesitates for just a second. He’d never known Ben to refuse a drink, regardless of the time of day, but now — now, he’s not so sure.

“Of course I want a drink,” Ben says finally, happy that his half-hearted ruse worked.

The attempt at lightheartedness puts a smile on Poe’s face, his eyes crinkling at the corners, the weary expression gone for just a few brief moments. For the first time in a while, Ben feels he’s done something right, even if it was a dumb joke on his childhood friend. Being back in Poe’s chambers, being on Yavin IV, it reminds Ben of his childhood, of life without so many responsibilities and expectations.

Poe pours them each something — Ben doesn’t much care what it is, to be frank — and then joins him in the seat next to Ben’s. They’re quiet as they take the first few sips. Ben closes his eyes, reveling in the warmth that spreads through his body immediately upon tasting the liquor. It’s a brandy of some sort, more refined than he’d expect from a bottle in Poe’s chambers, but he’s grateful for it all the same. 

“So I’m gonna guess you don’t want to talk politics,” Poe says, gazing out the open balcony doors.

“Kriff no,” Ben responds immediately.

Poe chuckles, pleased that he can read his friend after so many years. It had been difficult, learning to read Ben. He was a quiet boy, mysterious and shy, and that drove most of their peers away from him. It made finding even one person willing to marry him immensely difficult, nevermind the task now laid out ahead to find him another. It also meant that it’d take a reckless, stubborn person to break through that shell, and Poe had done it.

He glances over at Ben; years ago, he’d been lanky and awkward, big ears and short hair, limbs too long for him to handle without looking clumsy. But he’d grown into all that — it was a pity that growing into his face, his body, also meant that he’d grown into all the problems of the galaxy, the drama of his family. It seemed that life was determined to knock Ben from every angle.

He looked tired, his eyes sunken with dark circles beneath. He looked thinner, and his skin had lost pallor. He looked as bad as those teenage years they spent in boarding school, Ben hiding himself away, claiming to hear a voice in his head. The voice his uncle wouldn’t come out of his life as a hermit to help him with, not even for a day. And Ben’s parents were ill-equipped to help with anything relating to the Force. Han didn’t have it, and Leia, while she had it, didn’t know how to handle Ben’s particular predicament.

“You okay, buddy?”

Ben’s response is delayed; he blinks a few times before he registers the question was aimed at him. When he looks over at Poe, he’s frowning deeply, brow furrowing in a way that makes him look much older than he is. Like the years have weathered him more than everyone else.

Poe’s free hand moves to his chest, finding his mother’s ring on a chain easily, and fiddling with it. He does it all the time. 

“It’s the divorce, isn’t it? You miss Tallie.”

Ben looks away. Though he’s facing the balcony doors, he’s looking down. His eyes catch on a crack in the stonework, and for a moment his mind strays. How did that crack get there? Is Poe ever worried it’ll deepen, that it’ll crumble and he’ll fall? 

“Ben.”

His train of thought abruptly stops and he takes a deep breath. “Of course I miss her. I spent years with her,” Ben says finally. “We were friends.”

Nodding, Poe agrees, “Naturally. That makes sense.”

Ben sips at the brandy. He doesn’t know what else to say about it. He misses Tallie. He’s overwhelmed by all the politics of the galaxy. It’d be so easy to just jump in Yellow Leader and run from everything. But he hasn’t, and he doesn’t entirely know why.

“Have you talked to her since?”

Easy question. Ben shakes his head. “After the way everyone reacted to the news, I’m paranoid that any contact I make will somehow leak and it’ll start even more drama my mother will insist on berating me for.”

Poe is quiet, contemplative as he drinks from his glass. He crosses one leg over the other and considers carefully what he says next. 

“So what _really_ happened with you and Tallie?”

He’d heard Ben’s complaints throughout the relationship, of course. She wants his time, she wants his attention. But something tells Poe that there’s more to it. There’s something Ben isn’t telling everyone about the situation, something Tallie perhaps isn’t telling people, either. Poe hopes that he can finally get Ben to open up, if only just to him.

“I told you. She wanted me to be around more than I was.”

It’s dangerous, but Poe presses. “It’s more than that.”

He sees out of the corner of his eye the way Ben’s grip on his glass tightens. The tension in the air is palpable. Poe is toeing the line. 

“That was honestly a lot of it,” Ben insists. After a deep breath, he adds, “It was weird. We were friends who were never meant to be more. Haven’t you ever had that with somebody?”

“I’ve got that with you. With Finn, too,” Poe responds easily.

“Yeah,” nods Ben, before taking a sip of brandy. “So then imagine having sex with someone you’re just friends with. Having to stand by them and pretend you’re in love with them. Trying to…” He trails off and hesitates before he finishes, “Trying to have a child so people won’t challenge your marriage.”

Poe is quiet, contemplative as he thinks it over. The prospect of having to do that with someone he’s not romantically connected to sounds… empty. Boring. Like a waste of a life. He can see why someone as emotional as Ben wouldn’t want a life like that. 

“I’m sorry,” Poe says finally. “I… didn’t know.”

“Not many people do,” Ben says bitterly. He scowls into his glass. “It’s easy for them to talk about but they just don’t understand it. Even though they don’t get along much, even my parents were in love at one point. They just… stay together no matter what.”

Poe looks up and studies Ben. He frowns as he tips his head to the side and asks, “You and Tallie didn’t want to do that?”

“It was hard for us to imagine another _month_ together, never mind the rest of our lives.”

Nodding, Poe says, “Well… that’s great news for me.”

Now it’s Ben’s turn to look up, to be confused and concerned. “What do you mean?” he asks immediately.

Poe stands and walks to his cart of liquor, topping off his glass before holding up the bottle to offer more to Ben. With plenty left to drink, Ben shakes his head. He watches Poe walk out onto the balcony, stepping over the crack like it’s not even there. The breeze whips through his curls, and in the sunlight, his skin looks more tanned, a pleasant olive hue.

Sometimes Ben finds himself wishing he were attracted to men. He could probably very easily convince his mother to just let him marry Poe, and they could just fly their planes and fight for the Resistance with far less pressure on his shoulders. But they’re best friends, not lovers, and though it’d be different than with Tallie, it still wouldn’t be what he knows Poe wants. What most of the time Ben wants too: companionship and affection. A deep connection. Love.

“I had a meeting yesterday with your mom and a few others — Holdo, D’Acy, Connix,” Poe explains. He turns around, leaning his tailbone against the railing of the balcony. He looks Ben in the eyes. “They’re worried the Peace Accords are gonna fall through. There’s talk I’m gonna have to marry someone from the First Order, to try to maintain the peace.”

“ _Kriff_.”

Ben brings his glass to his lips and tilts his head back, shooting the last swallows of brandy down. It’s smooth on his tongue and warm on his throat. The sheer volume makes him sputter just a little, but after news like that, he needs it. Ben can’t help but feel responsible for the fact that because he couldn’t just play happy family with Tallie for a while, Poe will suffer.

“Hey, it’s not your fault, don’t worry about it,” Poe says, trying to pass it off as nothing. “Besides, it’s not guaranteed. They’re trying to find some other way.”

Even if he says Ben shouldn’t blame himself, he knows he will anyway. But it makes Poe feel better, knowing he’s said it, that it’s out there. Truth be told, he knows it _is_ partially Ben’s fault, but they’re friends, they have been for their entire lives, and Poe knows that there’s no use in putting any blame or anger on Ben because he’ll put that much on himself tenfold.

“I mean it, buddy. I’ll be fine,” Poe insists. “Just… give me a place to fly to when I need to get away, and it’s all good. We’re even.”

Ben looks disbelievingly at Poe. That seems like far less than he should be doing to make up for what he’s about to go through because of Ben. 

“She’s working on arranging it now?” Ben asks.

Poe shrugs. He takes a sip of his brandy, still choosing to savor it rather than shoot it back like Ben did. “No, it’s not a for-sure thing,” Poe says, the relief clear in his voice. “But I’m the prime candidate for the Resistance, so… she wants me to know it’s happening.”

“Well, it’s not like there are all that many options in the First Order,” Ben responds.

Wincing, Poe says, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Ben stands up and walks to the drink cart. He pulls the stoppers on a few glass bottles, sniffing around for something that doesn’t smell too expensive — not that it really matters for royals. They come from families with more money than they’ll ever know what to do with. He settles on something clear, and carries the entire bottle to the balcony with him.

“Drink up,” Ben says, holding out the bottle to Poe. “We’ll need it.”

Poe eyes the bottle warily, wondering if it’s wrong to do, to get drunk with his childhood friend and risk complaining or worse — _crying_ — into the night over things out of their control. They’re so privileged, sometimes Poe remembers it’s stupid for either of them to complain about anything. People are out there fighting their wars, defending them in the press and to their families, all the hardworking people are earning their way through life while people like Ben and Poe have their futures handed to them.

But sometimes Poe likes being reckless — more often than not, really — and if they stay in, they could drink all day and all night and nobody would know save for the service staff. Finn’s good at keeping secrets, and he knows Finn can make the rest do it, too. 

Ben swishes the liquor around in the bottle a little, enticing Poe, until Poe takes the bottle from him and drinks a massive swig. It burns, completely opposite the feeling he got from the brandy they were drinking earlier. He makes a face, and when he shakes off the unpleasant feeling of the drink he’d just taken, Poe blinks his eyes open to see Ben laughing at him.

He hasn’t seen Ben laugh in a long time. An absurdly long time.

Poe laughs with him for a moment, before shoving the bottle back at Ben. “Alright if I’m gonna suffer this stuff, you are, too,” Poe says. “Drink up, Ben.”

Ben holds his hands up, trying to avoid taking hold of the bottle. It hadn’t smelled particularly pleasant, but after he saw Poe’s reaction to it, he really doesn’t want to drink it now. When Ben doesn’t appear to want to hold the bottle himself, Poe takes the liberty of lifting the bottle right to his lips. “Come on! You can’t escape this!” Poe laughs.

He starts to tip the bottle, and in order to keep the liquor from spilling all down his front, Ben has to reluctantly take hold of the bottle and drink from it himself, just as Poe was pressuring him to do. 

It’s vile; the liquor stings on his tongue, and as he swallows it down, and it’s a genuinely unpleasant experience. So terrible, in fact, that it leaves Ben coughing and sputtering as Poe puts the bottle back on the cart.

“Why do you keep that around? It’s _terrible_?” Ben asks, still trying to get the taste out of his mouth.

“You mix it with other stuff to make it taste better,” Poe snaps lightheartedly. “Not everybody drinks straight liquor at every possible opportunity, you know.”

Ben tries to look nonchalant as he says, “It’s a lot easier. And faster.”

“Whatever,” Poe shakes his head. “Come on. Let’s go play we’re dejarik like we’re kids all over again.”

Taken aback, Ben asks, “With liquor?”

“Yeah,” Poe nods. He laughs. “We’re grown up kids now. Come on.”

He leaves his room, assuming Ben will follow. It takes him a few seconds, but he does. For at least one afternoon, they can forget their problems and pretend it’s ten years earlier, when they could play games and eat junk food and act like normal kids. It’s not a permanent escape, but it’ll have to do.


	4. Act I, Chapter IV: The Right Side of the War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The First Order leaders gather before Supreme Leader Snoke to discuss their successes thus far in the galaxy. Then, Snoke sends Hux and Phasma on a mission to Jakku to find able-bodied workers to join the First Order's ranks. It is there that they come across an impressive young scavenger girl, and everything changes.

Though his many years of military service had gotten Hux accustomed to life on board a massive military vessel, he was never fully prepared to step on board _The Supremacy_. It was cold and menacing unlike any other ship he’d ever boarded.

And though it meant getting to convene with Supreme Leader Snoke, the most powerful man in the galaxy, it also meant very little room for failure. Snoke expected perfection. Thankfully, Hux was only a prince. All audiences between Snoke and the monarchies of the First Order fell upon each planet’s leader. If anyone else was allowed in, it was a great honor indeed.

Hux and his father were both invited, and were representing the Regency Worlds — a collective of fourteen planets that grew by the day, governed by the royal family of Arkanis. Their most recent acquisition, Jakku, wasn’t very profitable, but it conveyed to the galaxy that they could continue to seize planets, should they decide it was important. 

Emperor and Prince Hux were joined in their audience with Snoke by Captain Phasma of Parnassos and Kylo Ren, lord of the Knights of Ren and one of the only remaining Force users known in the galaxy. He didn’t govern a planet, but he was a great asset to the First Order and was regarded highly by Snoke.

Even dressed in his finest Arkanisian garb, a traditional white suit and waist-length cape with ornate golden accents, Hux felt like a child. Phasma ran her own planet. Kylo Ren didn’t need one. Hux, hower, always had to defer to his father. 

Snokes guests stood before him in his throne room, all standing tall and conveying as much strength and power as possible. The room glared red, the curtains behind his throne causing his Praetorian Guard to blend in to their surroundings just a little, while still obvious enough to let everyone know that Snoke was not to be messed with. 

Snoke began the meeting without frivolity or formalities. When he spoke, one listened, hanging onto his every word.

“The Resistance is beginning to worry. We are having much success.”

“Have they said as much?” Phasma asks boldly.

Misconstrued, her question could imply she was challenging the Supreme Leader. “Not in so many words, but it is clear,” Snoke replies, unfazed by her question. “Senator Holdo has met with the Resistance, and they’ve called for a special assembly of leaders. Topics of discussion are to include Con Star Mining’s operations on Parnassos, the recent acquisition of Jakku, and the upcoming Coruscanti election. As you recall, the governor’s seat will be open and the front-runner has been tarnished by divorce.”

Brendol scoffs. “A divorce from _Ben Solo_ ,” he nearly spits the name, “isn’t enough to hurt her chances by much.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Hux notices Kylo Ren’s hand reaching for his lightsaber. Curious. “Ben Solo is one of the most eligible bachelors in the galaxy, and comes from one of the oldest and strongest families,” Snoke responds.

“ _Was_ an eligible bachelor,” Brendol corrects.

“No matter,” Snoke barks. “The divorce has instilled much doubt in her devotees. Her decision not to appear in public since the news broke reads as emotional, and lacking in strength. It has some members of the Resistance concerned as to whether they’ll be able to maintain their control of the seat.”

“Who do you suggest we nominate, Supreme Leader?” Hux asks.

It cannot be himself or Phasma — any royal by blood is forbidden from running for an electoral government position. But as much as Hux may fear that Snoke will choose to nominate Kylo Ren, he is prepared to suggest his mother for the position. She’d be perfect for it, cunning and calculating, but calm and reserved.

“We create a nominee, while also reminding everyone of our position in this galaxy. We are to be feared by our opposition and respected by our subjects,” Snoke says with a sickening sneer upon his face.

“What do you suggest?” asks Kylo Ren.

Hux has always been annoyed by Kylo Ren’s voice, hidden by a voice modulator within a rather overdramatic mask. Clearly, Kylo Ren aspires to be Darth Vader, but the task would prove impossible for him, even Hux could see it. Not once has Ren shown true leadership skills. He years for guidance and approval far too much — he’s weak, and he’s only an asset because of his ability to wield the Force.

“We use Jakku.”

For a moment, nobody says a word. It was unclear what Jakku could do to help them. It’s a dusty desert planet with nothing but drunks and scavengers and junk traders. There’s nobody worthy of running a planet likely to be wandering around there.

“Sir?” Phasma prompts for clarification.

Snoke’s face twists into a smile that makes Hux feel sick; it disgusts him to see the pure joy on his face, and what that could mean not just for Jakku, but for all of them. He knows he must continue to agree, to play along, in order to survive.

“We will go to Jakku in search of only the most competent, able-bodied humans. We take them from the planet. And then,” he pauses for dramatic effect. “Then, we demonstrate our newly completed Starkiller Base. We must show the galaxy what my creation can do.”

Hux bites his tongue until he tastes blood. _He_ was the lead designer on Starkiller, not Snoke. Their weapon is _his_. But allowing Snoke to take the credit will ensure Hux’s survival. It is what must be done. And one day, Hux can rectify the attribution of the planet’s creation — he can let the whole galaxy know that _he_ is the man behind such a powerful weapon.

“Who do you propose we send to Jakku?” Brendol asks. “Surely our Stormtroopers aren’t able to find humans to fit your criteria.”

There’s an edge in his father’s voice that Hux can hear — he’s not on board with the idea, but doesn’t have the courage to say as much. Nobody in their right mind would dare challenge the Supreme Leader. 

“Our Stormtroopers have the best possible training,” Captain Phasma reminds him. 

Though she is the Captain of Parnassos and has many royal duties, Phasma has also remained in her position as Head of the Stormtrooper Training division, though her required term length in such a role ended years prior. Parnassos values military training and service above all else, which is why Phasma insists on continuing to serve. It sets a good example for her people.

Snoke shifts in his throne; its massive stonework looks incredibly uncomfortable, but the absolute power the monstrosity projects must be worth the discomfort to him. “Indeed they do, Captain Phasma,” Snoke concedes. “But Emperor Hux is correct. Their training has not prepared them for this.”

“We can send my son.”

Hux’s hands clench tightly where he clutches them behind his back. Leave it to his father to volunteer him for such a task. Hux knows he’s capable of it, of course, but it’s the principle of the matter. Even at his age, as a grown man, he cannot make his own decisions. Such is the burden of living in his father’s shadow. It ignites a fury within him for which Hux has no outlet.

That, and he has no interest in going to Jakku. Very few do.

Snoke nods, and Hux focuses every ounce of energy he has into not showing his disappointment and anger. “Young Hux will be accompanied by Captain Phasma.”

 _Young Hux_. With each passing moment, with each new word, Hux becomes more irate. He’s not a child. He’s thirty years old. He’s a grown man and has a title just as anyone else in the room does.

“When do we depart?”

Phasma handles it all coolly, with a closed-off sort of finality that comes with years of taking orders from her superiors in the military while making her way up the ranks. Though he appears cool and collected on the outside, Hux is screaming on the inside, full of rage and frustration. He is ready to become his own man. He loathes that order and decorum dictate he cannot be, not yet, not as long as his father survives.

“Immediately,” Snoke says. “The faster you complete your task, the faster we can demonstrate the power of Starkiller Base, and of the First Order. We are the superior side of the war.” He chuckles menacingly. “Foolish Resistance. They think we are at peace. We’ll show them.”

Snoke sits back in his throne, one twisted, mangled arm on the armrest as he leans towards it. He doesn’t bother speaking; he uses his other hand to half-heartedly wave them all away, dismissing them. Hux sends a menacing glare over his shoulder to his father as they turn to leave, Hux the first out the door.

He takes long strides, distancing himself from the rest as fast as he can. On the one hand, he knows that even showing this much emotion in a public space could earn him a strong reaming from his father, but on the other hand, it’s the only way Hux can demonstrate his displeasure. His hands remain clasped behind his back, and he feels all eyes on him as he steps into the corridor outside Snoke’s throne room. 

The entirety of _The Supremacy_ was black and steel grey, the darkest tones possible for the darkest of men in the galaxy. Anything that wasn’t black or dark grey was glass or an ornamental red steel for accent. Meanwhile, Hux’s white suit painted him a very obvious presence in any area of the ship. All eyes focused on him as he took long, heavy strides away from Snoke’s throne room and towards the docking bay.

Much to his chagrin, he sees his bags already being moved to Phasma’s shuttle in preparation for their journey to Jakku. Hux enters the shuttle though Phasma hasn’t yet arrived; the sooner they leave for Jakku, the sooner he can return home.

——

Scrub. Scrub some more. Polish and shine in the hopes that all the burning, harsh soap and sore hands result in scrap metal worth a half portion rather than a quarter portion. Such has been Rey’s life for as long as she can remember.

The parts she’d found that day in a crashed Y-Wing east of Niima Outpost weren’t going to result in much. She knew that no matter how much harsh scrubbing she did on the parts, she’d be lucky to walk away from Unkar Plutt with a quarter portion that day. It was almost enough to make her give up entirely.

Dust and sand caked on her sweaty skin, and even beneath the canopy covering the wash stations, Rey could feel the sun beating down on them mercilessly. Her whole body was drenched in sweat; her trousers stuck to her skin, burning in a different way than the soap in her cracked hands. Her whole body ached, yearned for a break. Oh, the things she’d do for one day of food without working herself to the bone for it.

She doubles down on her washing, ignoring the shouts and screams behind her. Nothing good would come of involving herself in the affairs and conflicts of others; she’d learned that long, long ago. It’s how she got the little cut on her cheek, not that she could see it — mirrors had long since been sold off to Plutt in hopes of portions and water. But she could feel it, and it reminded her to mind her own business.

But the screaming grew louder, drowned out only by the hissing roar of engines. New engines, nothing like the ones on the junkyard speeders soaring around Jakku most days. This was something else.

Her curiosity was too much for her, and Rey turned around to see what was happening. Horror filled her as she saw a First Order ship touching down next to the outpost, sand whipping around it in waves until it had touched down and the motors could switch off. Large, black, and imposing, Rey was frozen in place, scrap metal in one hand and scrub brush in the other. 

Things never ended well when the First Order was on planet.

Quickly, for fear of any sort of punishment from the people who’d already taken ownership of their planet and killed many others for lack of obedience, Rey turned back to her scrubbing, doubling down on it, her whole body shaking with the efforts of her scrubbing to try to convey that she was working, she was trying to help.

Two figures in black robes, First Order insignia on their sleeves, walked right into the center of the canopy. Both were tall, one blonde, one red-haired, appraising looks on their faces as they scanned the crowd of scavengers and junk traders. They were looking for something, but Rey couldn’t figure out what. She was afraid to find out.

She kept her head down, did her work, and hoped that they wouldn’t look twice at her. She took the long way around the canopy to Plutt’s booth to sell her scrap at the end of the day. When Plutt gave her an entire portion for what she’d found, Rey was instantly on edge. She didn’t know what that meant — he hadn’t done that in more days than she could count.

Something wasn’t right.

Before Rey could think too much about it as she stepped out of line, portion in hand, one of the Teedo boys stuck his staff at her back. He demands she hand over her portion in Teedospeak. “No,” Rey says dangerously.

He shoves the staff against her back harder, between her shoulder blades, pressing hard enough to leave a bruise. He’s even more insistent that she hand over her portion, now grabbing at it, to try to steal it away. 

Angrily, Rey wrenches the portion from him, shoving it in her satchel before swinging her own staff off her shoulder. It comes down hard on the head of one of the Teedo brothers, the one with the staff now honing in on her, his brother knocked unconscious in the sand. 

Rey parries, swinging her staff left, then swirling it over her head to swing in from the other side. Her swings are unpracticed and clumsy, but she possesses more strength than he does — each blow is enough to send him backwards. A crowd gathers as Rey fights for her life — for her food, for a way to survive — shoving the conscious Teedo brother back, back, back with each swing and each smack of her staff against his tiny body. 

It’s taxing; Rey feels her muscles and lungs screaming out with each swing and each attack — she can only do so much on little food and even less water. She doesn’t have much fight left in her before her body shuts down to try to survive in the harsh heat of Jakku. 

One more swing is all it takes before he’s flung by her staff into the slop pool, the murky water permeating his clothing, filling his mouth when he’s not expecting the blow. He’s coughing and sputtering, and it’s enough time for Rey to get away.

Staff in hand, Rey sprints as fast as she can through the desert sand, putting as much distance between her and the Teedo brothers as she can.

She barely makes it to the rusted-out interior of her AT-AT, her body screaming at her to _stop, please stop_. It’s too much. She’s overexerted herself and should probably only eat half of her portion — she’s not going to have the energy to go out scavenging the next day. She doesn’t do this often, but occasionally she’s had to, with less portions than she’s managed to obtain that day.

Her movements lag as she mixes her bread, cutting half of it to neatly tuck away for the next day. She’s not going to kid herself — she’ll be unable to do much tomorrow. Furtively, Rey sneaks a glance outside, checking that the coast is clear, that she’ll have nobody to try to steal her food if she eats in the shade of her AT-AT.

She settles into the sand, gazing out in the distance. The First Order ship is still there, and many are still milling about, washing their scrap metal and selling it off to Plutt. Rey is grateful she got out for the day, that she can rest and relax and enjoy her meal in peace.

As Rey chews hungrily, taking in as much as she can from the meager half portion she’d allowed herself that day, her eyes close. The flavor of the portions is better than usual — maybe it’s just how hungry she is that makes it seem so great. Whatever it is, she finds that she’s actually enjoying herself. For a few moments, she’s at ease.

“Hello.”

It’s a woman’s voice, smooth and melodic, pulling Rey from her reverie. She opens her eyes and blinks a few times, the slight dehydration slowing her ability to focus and process. It’s the First Order officers from the ship. Rey feels sick.

“That was some impressive fighting.”

The blonde woman is insistent on having a conversation, unperturbed by Rey’s inability to formulate response.

“We’d like to offer you a job.”

This time, it’s the red-haired man stepping forward to speak to her. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere but Jakku, the scowl etched deep into his features. The blonde woman, however, looks almost amused by the situation. It’s confusing for Rey all around. 

“What kind of job?” asks Rey through half-chewed bread.

The man looks disgusted by her manners, but Rey won’t change for them — the First Order has done nothing but increase tension on the planet, make everyone more combative, make it more difficult for Rey to just put her head down and do her job while she waits for her parents to return. They’re the reason she had to fight the Teedo brothers, that she feels bone-weary and weak.

The blonde woman glances up at the sky, presumably towards their base. “Better than your job here, I can presume,” she says. “We’d like you to join our ranks. Help us create an Empire in the galaxy.”

“Me?” Rey asks. “I’m a scavenger. I’m nobody.”

“You would receive more money and food, a better home,” interjects the red-haired man. “Your life would be much more comfortable than,” he wags a hand at her makeshift home, “this.”

She shakes her head. “I’m flattered, but I can’t accept. I can’t leave.”

“If you don’t leave Jakku, you _will_ die,” the man barks. “Whatever your reason for staying here, it cannot be worth losing your life.”

Rey looks up at both of them, startled. “What?”

“Come with us, or you will die with the destruction of your planet,” the red-haired man persists.

Rey looks to the blonde haired woman, who nods somberly. She looks back up to the sky, to Starkiller Base lingering nearby like a moon of the planet. In no uncertain terms, they’re telling Rey of the destruction of Jakku, of her home. Whether she leaves or not, it will be destroyed — no matter what, her parents will never be able to find her again. 

It should make her feel sad, she knows, but instead it just makes her angry. Irrationally angry that someone would think it was okay to do something like that. 

Then she has the fleeting thought: if she goes with them, she can use their tech to track down her parents. If she cooperates enough, they’d let her do that, right?

The possibility of finding her family is tempting, as is hunger and shelter and not having to fight for her life. And if the alternative is death… she’d be a fool not to take it.

“Fine,” she agrees. “But I want to finish eating, first.”

The two officers exchange glances. The thin, sweaty girl sitting before them is scarfing down food like a savage, and without explanation disappears into her makeshift home to eat the rest of the food she’d earned that day. Clearly now there’s no point in saving it. 

“Has she left?” she hears the male ask.

“I don’t think there’s a way out somewhere else,” responds the woman.

The sunlight from outside entering through the foot of the AT-AT disappears, shrouded by the figure of the man, kneeling down to look inside. Rey is there, of course — she has nowhere to disappear to, and he can see that clearly now. She’s packing her few possessions in her satchel and gathering up her food.

He sees the tick marks on the wall, a count of some sort. Perhaps her days on planet, or her days successfully scavenging — either way, the sheer amount of tick marks makes for a very tragic view of her life. Nothing in the space really seems worth saving and bringing with her, but if the girl insists, it’s a small price to pay. Though her ability to lead is questionable, it’s clear that she can fight better than most, even if her movements are primitive and she lacks good training.

This girl is exactly what Supreme Leader Snoke is looking for. Not a single soul on Jakku aside from her has caught their eye.

Rey slings her bag over her shoulder and steps out of her home; it only strikes the tiniest bit of sadness in her, the thought that she’ll never return to this place. What hurts is the realization is that she’ll never see her parents again. Anger and disappointment swirl within her; sure, they’ve waited a long time to come get her, but it must be for a reason. They’re going to come back. They have to. 

Maybe the pain they feel when they return to find her planet destroyed will make up for the years of loneliness. The spite swirls within her, a strong motivator to agree to go with these First Order officers.

“So what will I be doing?” Rey asks, following as the blonde woman leads them back towards the village. “You need me to fight for you?”

The sun is halfway beyond the horizon, casting long shadows across the smooth sand. Though it’s darkening, the heat still stays close to the ground, sweat beading across Rey’s brow. Even in her thin, drapey clothing, she sweats. How the officers in their long black robes aren’t sweating bullets, Rey doesn’t understand. 

“Something like that,” the man says. 

He sounds amused, and Rey doesn’t like that. It makes her uneasy, makes her feel like this is a trap.

“I’m too old to be trained as a Stormtrooper,” she argues, taking a stab in the dark. She’s actually not entirely positive there’s an age limit.

The blonde woman pauses in the sand. She turns to look over her shoulder at the spunky young girl they’ve picked up on Jakku, at her messy flyaways framing her face, the three buns down the back of her head that have clearly been through a rough day’s work scavenging. Rey’s a mess; she has no business trying to set rules.

“The Supreme Leader has other plans for you,” the man says from behind.

“What are your names?”

Rey needs something to feel like she has some leverage; she’d at least like to know who these people are who are taking her to the Supreme Leader. He’s the only member of the First Order she’s really heard anything about, and really, what people say about him on Jakku could apply to anyone in the First Order: evil, menacing, dangerous. Stay away. 

“I am Captain Phasma of Parnassos, and that’s Prince Armitage Hux of Arkanis,” says the woman, Phasma. 

“Oh,” Rey replies. She adjusts her bag and staff over her shoulder. “Never heard of you.”

Hux looks appalled; Phasma looks pleased. She glances up and over Rey’s shoulder, to Hux. He stands sputtering behind Rey. “Do you presume to treat royalty in such an indifferent manner?” he asks angrily.

Rey turns to look at him. She tilts her head to the side, unaffected by his blatant display of rage. “I guess. I’m just saying, they don’t talk about you out here,” Rey replies. “If everyone should know you, maybe you should be making the rounds.”

“The news —”

“We don’t get that out here,” Rey interrupts. “Do you think anyone on this planet has the credits to get a datapad? You’ve seen it yourself — we’re scavengers. We have nothing. You can’t be angry that because of your lack of care for your own planet, we don’t have the technology to keep up with who you are and what you do.” She pauses. “What _do_ royals do, anyway?”

“This,” Phasma says simply. “Now come along. We should be going before the weapon begins charging.”

Rey feels that same unease from earlier creeping back into her bones, ushering in a whole slew of emotions she doesn’t feel strong enough to handle. She’s exhausted, weary down to the bone and desperate for a drink of water. And here she is, trekking back to Niima Outpost, only wearing herself out further. She knows this is her last trudge through the sands of Jakku, but she doesn’t feel relieved. 

Whatever comes with agreeing to leave planet with the First Order, Rey is sure she’s not prepared for it. 

The shuttle is small, but her seat is plush, strapped into the small seating bay behind the cockpit. The moment they ascend through the atmosphere, Rey’s eyes drift shut, her exhaustion no longer bearable. Her head droops to the side and in seconds, she’s asleep sitting up, strapped safely to her seat for the duration of the ride.

Up front, Hux notices over his shoulder that she’s fallen asleep and takes that opportunity to address Phasma, who has finished piloting their ascent. She switches things into autopilot, their course to Starkiller Base charted and engaged. “I must say, I’m shocked we even found one,” Hux confesses.

Phasma’s lip curls in amusement. “The planet also holds far fewer humans than even the Supreme Leader expected. And very few towns and outposts,” she responds.

“It’s a barren wasteland and the galaxy will be no worse off once it is destroyed,” Hux responds. “It’s almost a pity to waste an entire sun just to destroy such a garbage planet.”

His words draw a melodic laugh from Phasma. She turns to look at him and says, “You know in this case, I actually have to say that I agree. We should be directing that sort of weapon at planets that are actually a threat to us.”

“Like Coruscant?”

“Please, you’d have to be a fool to target one of the galaxy’s largest political meeting places,” Phasma replies. “That hurts us _and_ the Resistance. The weapon is best served on planets where the ramifications only hurt _them_.”

“We’re not even at war, and yet…”

Phasma shakes her head. “Oh, Armitage. We’re at war, alright. We always have been, and we always will be. The Peace Accords are really just for show,” she says. “There’s nothing in them that presents any real consequences should we break them.”

“Aside from their retaliation,” he amends.

Phasma takes that moment to shed herself of the large, black cloak. Beneath it, she wears a white tunic with her black trousers, and Hux realizes for the first time that she does indeed own clothes fit for a woman. Though she doesn’t wear gowns like his mother, Phasma has her own sort of elegance — a modern twist, made just feminine enough by a necklace around her neck (a family heirloom no doubt) or a pair of earrings. Sometimes she only bothers to curl her hair.

That day, it was sparkling stone earrings he spots behind her curls. It’s strange to him, that she’d dress up for such an excursion. He certainly didn’t.

“If you fear the Resistance, you’re a much weaker leader than I thought you were,” Phasma says.

Her voice is a mixture of amusement and curiosity — did he really fear them? There was nothing to fear from such a small group of people, all hell-bent on maintaining ages-old traditions of Senate gatherings and democratic votes. They wanted to give their people freedom and choice, a foolish goal really, given they could just as easily find guidance from their leaders if the Resistance were anything like the First Order.

“I don’t fear the Resistance,” Hux snaps. “They exhaust me, and they’re no match for us.”

Phasma looks amused.

“Well, we just have to hope that the girl we’ve found — _kriff_ , we didn’t even get her name — is the missing piece in the First Order that Snoke is looking for,” she says. 

Phasma fixes Hux with a smirk that makes his stomach twist. She looks like she’s about to be very, very right, and he doesn’t like that one bit.

“With her, perhaps we can win this not-war once and for all.”


	5. Act I, Chapter V: A New Era

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey wakes in the clutches of the First Order, her new future outlined for her. She is strong with the Force, Snoke's new plaything, and a conversation with Kylo Ren goes to a place Rey would never expect it could. Then, the First Order decides the time is right to show the galaxy just how powerful Starkiller Base really is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading and following along so far. It means the world to me!

When Rey wakes, there’s an unpleasant chill in her bones. She hears faint sounds around her, but can’t make out anything beyond the slate grey walls of the ship. Her eyesight is blurry, her every move slow and lethargic. She wonders if they sedated her, what exactly happened to her. The past hours are a blur in her mind, a mixture of events, and she’s unsure of which were real and which were just a fever dream.

There’s a droid next to the bed she’s on — though her sight isn’t sharp, she can tell she’s in a med bay of some sort — and the droid is extending an arm over her chest to take readings. Rey coughs and takes a deep breath, fully regaining her consciousness. 

She can tell there are others in the room, but they’re dark figures against dark walls — most of the room is drenched in shadow, and she’s unable to make out much of anything. The brightest light emanates from the droid, and from the screens next to her bed. Though Rey has never seen technology quite like this, it’s clear from the images on screen that it’s showing details of her, of her health and fitness. She feels incredibly exposed, yet also like she’s invisible because not a soul is acknowledging her. It’s a weird paradox. 

“She is malnourished,” says a curt, tight voice. 

It’s a woman, the thin, petite one standing next to the unmistakable blur that must be Hux. The red hair is a dead giveaway. “Of course,” Hux responds, his words just as clipped. “Is her body beyond repair?”

“Very few bodies are beyond repair, Your Highness,” she says. “With the correct diet and nutritional supplements, she could be even stronger than you say she already is.”

Rey struggles against the restraints on her bed, desperate for their attention, for someone to acknowledge her presence. She wants answers, and more than that, she wants them to stop talking about her like she’s not there. Her whole life she’s been nobody, just a scavenger without anyone to care for her, and if she’s going to give up her entire life to help the First Order, she wants them to treat her like a person.

The doctor glances over and presses a button on the droid. Her piercing blue eyes lock with Rey’s for just a moment, but her expression is painstakingly blank. Even if Rey could see clearly enough to completely read her expression, she’d be unable to find anything in it. The doctor then turns back to Hux and says, “We will keep her here until you command otherwise.”

“There is no need, Doctor Tenney,” Hux says curtly. “We must still have her presented to the Supreme Leader, but once she no longer needs medical attention, please see to it that she be placed in a holding cell.”

“Forgive me Your Highness, but isn’t that a bit barbaric? She’s not a criminal,” argues Tenney.

“Not at all. Until she proves she can be relied upon, we must take all precautions necessary,” Hux explains.

Rey feels her head beginning to swirl as another dose of sedative swims through her veins. It twists her stomach and she feels ill, but hopeless in getting the doctor’s attention. Is it normal? Is she going to be sick? She worries over it until she can hold onto consciousness no more. No matter how hard she tries to fight it, Rey’s eyes blink furiously until they stay closed, the sedatives putting her back into a long, deep sleep.

The next time Rey wakes, she has no more mobility than she did before. Her wrists are sore, the straps holding her to the bed a little tighter than she’d prefer. Her eyesight is more blurred than the first time, so she chooses to keep her eyes closed — she’s too exhausted to keep them open, to try to force her vision to focus.

She hears familiar voices, once again talking about her. 

“I’ve gotten us an audience with the Supreme Leader.”

That one is Phasma. Rey would recognize her melodic alto anywhere; though Phasma is a terrifying woman, taller than anyone else Rey has ever met and as broad as the strongest men she’s ever seen, she speaks with a melodic voice that could instill calmness in anyone. Her Imperial accent is strong and dignified, beautiful in a way that Hux’s isn’t.

“Excellent,” replies Hux. “She is strong. Tenney has had to sedate her several times. She keeps trying to escape.”

Phasma pauses before responding, “She may have forgotten our conversation on Jakku. Tenney reports she was severely dehydrated and malnourished when we found her. That is grounds for spotty memory.”

“No matter,” Hux answers. “She doesn’t have much to remember, anyway. She agreed to help us and we will hold her to that.”

“And you intend on reminding her of this by putting her in a holding cell?”

“Do you have an alternative?”

Rey struggles against her restraints again, trying to see if she can gather any more strength to at least become more comfortable. She’s sore from lying flat for so long, and she’s desperate for something to drink. Her mouth is dry, like she’s swallowed the stifling hot air on Jakku.

“Put her in a ‘Trooper room. There are some in an unoccupied wing, we could easily program the locks to only open for authorized personnel — the girl not included,” Phasma says. “The bed would at least be more comfortable.”

Hux is quiet, like he’s considering it. Though Rey appreciates the effort to which Phasma is going in order to give her a better, more comfortable stay than the med bay or where she used to live on Jakku, Rey doesn’t care about that. She wants to be free of the shackles on the bed. She wants water and food. She wants to walk.

Words fail Rey, her voice hoarse and barely a whisper — nothing they can hear over Hux’s response to Phasma’s suggestion.

“I suppose we could do that,” he says. “The wing will have a wonderful view of the weapon.”

“Are you suggesting we purposely time it so she can watch us destroy her home planet?” asks Phasma. “That is absolutely barbaric, Armitage.”

“Yes,” Hux agrees. His tone of voice indicates he’s smiling, and it makes Rey’s stomach twist uncomfortably. “Perhaps she will find it comforting.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“That is not our problem.”

Rey struggles against her restraints, making enough noise to finally gain their attention. Hux and Phasma look over, but make no motions to move closer to Rey. Her vision is still blurred, but it’s not as bad as it was when she’d first awakened. Phasma is the first to take a step towards her, watching her with a curious, calculating gaze.

“Please,” Rey says, forcing her voice to do something. It’s hoarse and raspy, it physically pains her to speak, throat screaming out in pain with each word. “Let me go.”

“You owe a debt to the First Order,” Phasma says. 

She makes it sound so simple, like eating a meal or dressing for the day. It’s much more complicated than that. “It hurts,” Rey pleads. “The bed. The restraints.”

Phasma’s eyes dart to Rey’s wrists. She takes her time considering whether she wants to help Rey, to give her sore, chafing skin any relief. She touches the reddened patches of skin with cool fingers, the sensation immeasurably soothing to Rey. “If you hadn’t struggled against them, you wouldn’t have these sores,” Phasma observes.

Rey’s breathing begins to pick up, growing more labored as she thinks about the fact that these people she’d trusted, the ones who saw her potential and made her feel special, were just going to use her. It was just like Jakku all over again. She’d be there to do a task so others above her could prosper. Once again, Rey would become a cog in a machine, indebted to somebody because they deigned to provide her with minimal means necessary to survive.

But then she remembers a trick she’d used on Jakku, on those days Plutt said her scraps weren’t worth so much as a quarter portion in sum. She didn’t know where she’d learned it or why it worked, but it did. It was her last chance at getting out.

Rey closes her eyes and tries to level her breathing. Phasma’s hand leaves her wrist, the skin tingling in her wake, and before slowly fluttering her eyes open, Rey has the radiating fear that while she’s focusing herself, they’re going to walk away and she’ll be abandoned, hopeless.

“You will remove these restraints and show me to my quarters.”

She tries to make it sound strong, sound commanding, without overdoing it. What she’s attempting to do requires the utmost concentration, the perfect balance of emotions and strength in order to cause the person to whom she’s speaking to acquiesce.

“I beg your pardon?” 

Phasma sounds amused, more than anything, by Rey’s demand. But Rey will not let it deter her. It often takes two tries in order for it to work. She takes a deep breath, clears her throat, and centers herself.

“You will remove these restraints and show me to my quarters.”

The room is silent. Rey feels Hux’s eyes on them from where he stands at the foot of her bed. Phasma is watching Rey closely, studying her, head tipped to the side like she’s considering doing exactly as Rey has demanded. 

But then she laughs.

“That won’t work on us here. We know your powers. Snoke has seen to it that your senses are clouded.”

Rey’s expression drops into deep disappointment; she suddenly feels weary all over again. Worse, now, than before. “What?”

Now, Hux walks to her bedside as well, choosing to stand next to Phasma, nearer to the head of the bed, and very close to it. Rey has to crane her neck to look up at him; he likes the position of power, of making her sit uncomfortably just to look into his eyes. 

“The Supreme Leader is aware of your ability to wield the Force. In order to prevent you from using it on us and escaping, as you’ve just proven you are willing to do,” he explains. “You cannot use it here.”

“The Force?” Rey asks. She looks to Phasma, and then back up at Hux. “That’s what that is? I thought it was all a myth.”

The amusement on Hux and Phasma’s faces only grows, which fuels Rey’s confusion and anger on even further. It’s as though they’re taking pleasure in her pain and discomfort; perhaps they are. This _is_ the First Order after all. 

“If I can’t use the Force,” Rey says, like she can’t believe that’s actually what’s happening, “why am I restrained? Please, I just want a bed where I can lie on my side and get some actual rest. That’s all I ask.”

Each word scratches at her throat, makes her eyes water. Her voice remains hoarse and the cough that follows just hurts her even more.

“The decision to move you is not ours,” Phasma replies. Looking in her eye, Rey would almost believe that Phasma regretted having to deliver such news. _Almost._ “Once the Supreme Leader gives clearance, we can move you.”

Rey frowns. Her brow scrunches up, and she knows she’s desperately close to begging. But she won’t beg to greet the Supreme Leader face to face — she doesn’t want to, would prefer she never had to, but there’s only so much power she has now. 

“What do I have to do?”

Hux looks smug. “Wait.”

Disappointment settles in Rey’s chest. She’s good at waiting. It’s all she ever did on Jakku, waiting for her parents to return to her, to bring her home. But they never came. Fears of being stuck in the med bay, restrained, for days or weeks on end flood into Rey, and she struggles against the straps on instinct. She’s stubborn, and she’s persistent, and she _will_ be freed no matter what the cost.

Phasma and Hux turn away from her, taking their time in leaving the med bay.

“She’s spunky,” Phasma says with amusement, just as they reach the doorframe.

Rey wishes she’d caught hold of Phasma’s deep crimson cloak. She could have gripped it, forced Phasma to stay until someone released her. Rey could have at least done something.

“She is,” Hux agrees.

“Perhaps you ought to marry her. She’d no doubt keep your life interesting.”

Rey doesn’t get to hear what is said next, because the doors are sliding shut behind them, leaving Rey all alone once more. 

Rey is uncertain when she falls asleep, since she wasn’t administered a sedative this time. It means, thankfully, that when she wakes again, her vision is clearer and her throat feels scratchy, but not quite as bad as before. She’s not even sure what wakes her this time. At first, Rey thinks she’s alone, and that she woke on her own. 

The room is colder than it was before — she’s got goosebumps on her arms and legs, across the bare flesh exposed by the outfit clearly created for life in a much warmer climate. The ship’s air is less humid, which she appreciates, but it feels stale and uncomfortable. It has an odd smell to it, one she isn’t sure is because she’s in the med ward or on a starship. 

She hears a swoosh and turns her head, facing the opposite side of the small room. There, she sees him.

Kylo Ren.

She’s heard about him, of course. The whole galaxy speaks in hushed tones about this man, the dangerous Force wielder, not a Jedi, but not a Sith. He’s Snoke’s apprentice, short-tempered yet powerful. He can make any person in the galaxy do exactly as he wants just by lifting his hand. He’s slaughtered whole villages in pursuit of relics for the First Order.

And now he stands before Rey.

His robes are long and black, shrouding him from her full view. He is tall, cloaking her in darkness, preventing her from really seeing him as more than a looming, powerful black shadow.

“Scavenger.”

Rey takes a deep breath, willing herself to stay calm. Inside, her heart is racing; she’s frightened, and unable to call upon the Force — a thing she hadn’t even known she was consciously doing until Phasma enlightened her earlier — not to mention, she’s restrained to the bed and weak. Rey knows she’s no match for this man right now. She’s afraid of what Kylo Ren can do to her, of what he _will_ do to her, in the name of the Supreme Leader. She didn’t exactly make friends earlier when she’d tried to escape.

“I have a name.”

She’s stubborn, and she wants respect. It’s perhaps a foolish statement to blurt out, but it’s there. Rey wants them to use her name. She’s a person, and she deserves at least that common respect. 

“Do you?”

His question is cocky, mocking in the way he asks it, like it’d be a surprise for a scavenger to have a name. She’s a nobody from Jakku — it’s almost amusing to him that she’d have a name.

“My name is Rey.”

Ren walks slowly to the foot of her bed, watching her — or so Rey assumes. She feels his gaze, knows he _must_ be watching her, even though a mask shields his face from view. It’s easier to see when at this angle, the small stream of moonlight crossing his body and highlighting his features. 

His mask is black like the rest of his attire, with silver marks to accentuate where his eyes would be. He’s meant to look intimidating — he _does_ , truly — but at the same time Rey knows that if he was there to kill her, he’d have done it already. But the First Order needs her — perhaps he’s here for that? To show her what needs to be done, or to free her from the uncomfortable shackles around her wrists. 

“Rey. Scavenger. Makes no difference to me.”

Rey scowls. If there’s one thing she’s learned in her short tenure with the First Order, it’s that they like leaving people in suspense for as long as possible. A fact she’s incredibly irritated with, given the discomfort of her situation. A shiver shoots down her spine, her whole body trembling. If Ren reads it as her struggling in her restraints, he doesn’t acknowledge it as such.

“What’s going to happen to me?”

She’s tired of the mystery, of the suspense — though she knows she accepted an offer from the First Order in which she’d help them in some way, she doesn’t know how, or when. She’s gotten no details, and it’s only now as she lays on the bed in the med bay that she realizes she should have asked for more information before agreeing. Her gut wrenches with nervous uncertainty as she waits for answers, an explanation of some sort.

“We are going to give you a better life. Better than you could have ever dreamed possible.”

Rey’s brow knits in confusion and she looks down at her wrists. Though his statement sounds wonderful — she’s always hoped for a better life — it is at odds with her current situation, the way they’re keeping her hostage.

“You could have fooled me.”

His head tilts ever so slightly. Rey takes it to mean he’s looking at her wrists, still restrained, and with one lift of his hand, she is released. He seems to have absolute faith that she won’t run; Rey couldn’t if she tried, having been restrained for so long. Her muscles ache, even as she brings her arms the few inches to the center of her body, her own cold hands now soothing the sores on her wrists just as Phasma’s hand had done earlier. 

“You are strong with the Force.”

Rey glances up at Ren, and then looks back down at her wrists. Slowly, she lowers her hands to her sides and brings herself to an upright position on her bed. Her breathing has steadied, but her heart still races with adrenaline, with fear and excitement both.

She shakes her head. “I did what I had to do on Jakku to survive.”

Ren’s footsteps are heavy as he continues his journey around her bed, now standing on the other side, between Rey and the door. “One cannot just choose to use the Force. You are sensitive to it, and can wield it. Many cannot,” he explains.

“Does it mean the First Order no longer wants me?”

She looks up at him; they hadn’t discussed this when Hux and Phasma had been trying to convince her to come with them. They’d seen her proficiency in combat, and that was it. They wanted her for normal strength… did the ability to wield the force taint her, make her less of a candidate for whatever it was they needed? 

“On the contrary,” Ren says. “It makes us _need_ you. The Supreme Leader wishes to meet you very soon. I believe he will appoint you as my apprentice.”

“You’re going to make me fight?” she wonders.

Ren steps close to the bed; he’s looming over her, but even beneath his intricately knitted cowl and layers of warm cotton and leather of his uniform, Rey gets the distinct sense that this man isn’t going to hurt her. 

“We’re going to make you strong. You’re going to help us protect the First Order and bring peace to the galaxy.” Ren extends his hand to Rey. “Come,” he says. “I’ll show you to your quarters.”

Rey looks down at his hand; something about taking his hand feels like the first steps to the Dark Side, which she’d thought a myth up until waking up… wherever she was, in the First Order’s custody. It felt wrong. But the alternative was death. Rey didn’t have enough power to negotiate, not yet anyway. If she takes his hand, however, she can rise to power on her own and then she can make her own decisions. Finally.

Gently, Rey rests her hand in Ren’s. He is warm, warmer than she’d expected, and she relishes in it for a moment before rising from the bed on shaky legs. It’s been days since she walked, and she still lacks the proper sustenance to have regained her strength. She hopes that having quarters means regular meals and perhaps even a shower. She’s always wondered what such a thing would be like.

Ren is terrifying, yet she trusts him, though she has no idea what she’s about to walk into as she leaves the med bay with him. Though their hands separate almost immediately upon leaving the confines of the small room in which she’d just spent several blurry days, Rey feels his presence next to her. It’s a comfort she’s not expecting, one she doesn’t know what to do with. 

She chalks it up to a residual effect of the sedative and thinks no more about it. There’s no use dwelling upon things that won’t matter, in the end.

——

_“Across the galaxy, generations of villainy and scum on backwater planets have proliferated the traditions of ransacking First Order property for personal gain. Entire legions of troops killed in the name of the First Order, reduced to profits for scavengers and smugglers all across planets — allies of the First Order, included.”_

Brendol Hux stands tall, speaking to seas of Stormtroopers all gathered on the surface of Starkiller Base, hanging from his every word. Across the galaxy, holovids of his speech is being projected into sitting rooms, conference rooms, dining halls. Some watch in abject horror, others in the greatest pride imaginable. 

Elizabeth Hux, her son Armitage by her side, stand tall as they watch the display of power. She looks pleased, that Brendol was chosen by the Supreme Leader to make such a magnificent speech, broadcast all across the galaxy. Though angered by the lack of recognition, Armitage stands anxiously by her side, hopeful that the weapon works as it is meant to. Should the weapon fail in front of the entire galaxy, he is likely to lose his life, or suffer severe lifelong punishment at the hands of Snoke.

Phasma and her attendant Mitaka join the Hux family in their ballroom, surrounded by the Arkanisian elite, all clutching flutes of champagne in preparation for an undoubtedly joyous, monumental success. There is no question in their minds. That evening, the First Order will demonstrate their strength and their power to the galaxy, Peace Accords be damned. In destroying their own planet, rather than one owned by the Resistance, they are staying well within the parameters of the Accords — any retaliation will be viewed as a war begun by the Resistance, not the First Order. It was a genius scheme, one likely to prove incredibly successful for them.

_“Today, we debut our weapon, meant to restore structure and order to the galaxy. Planets who profit from the misfortunes of the Empire, of Lord Vader and the wars of the past, will survive no longer. This great weapon upon which you stand, which you have built, will bring an end to the injustices in the galaxy. It will create equality, balance. It will eliminate those too criminal to deserve to survive. Starkiller Base will create a new standard for all living beings in the galaxy, and it will hold them accountable.”_

Leia and Han walk through the darkened corridors of their home, seeking out their son. What is about to happen in the galaxy is something they cannot possibly prevent, one that he should witness, to be able to speak on it. Undoubtedly, they’ll all need to, in order to reassure their people and try to keep panic to a minimum.

His room is at the end of the western corridor of the Royal Palace, as far away from his parents as possible. Leia walks with an exhaustion in her step, the slightest of limps, with Han doing his best to trudge along and keep up. 

The door to Ben’s bedroom is open; Leia fears that he won’t be there, that he’ll be off somewhere else like always, and what if he’s on the planet about to be destroyed? She keeps the speech playing on the small holo-display on her wrist, hoping they make it in time.

She stops just outside Ben’s door; he’s a grown man of thirty, he needs privacy and she does her best to always try to acknowledge that. She mustn’t let urgency get in the way of basic decency and respect, regardless of how difficult it is to remember that sometimes.

Unlike in his childhood years when he’d keep the space meticulously clean, Ben’s room is a haphazard mess. He’s got clothes strewn about every surface, his holopad on the bedside table. The curtains framing his window dance in the breeze, the room chilled with the cool night’s air. They see remnants of his childhood everywhere — model ships across the dressing table between bottles of hair product and moisturizer. An inkwell and quill with some pieces of flimsi on his desk. His plush animals from childhood half-heartedly stuffed in the trunk by the foot of his bed.

It looks like the room of a child forced to grow up too soon. Most royals experienced such a life, Ben included. 

And then his face. When Leia sees his face, the exhaustion written across it, the dark circles beneath his eyes, the greasy hair splayed across titanium-colored sheets — she turns to Han. “Do we wake him?” she asks.

Both are aware that their son is often prone to insomnia or bad dreams. He’d talk of the dreams all the time, of the man in his head, trying to pull him to the Dark Side. They’d enrolled him in meditation courses to try to help him block it out. Now that he’s asleep, even if he’s sprawled across his blankets still wearing his clothes from earlier that day, she’s loath to wake him. 

Han shakes his head. “We shouldn’t. The kid deserves a good night’s sleep.” 

Leia frowns, but agrees. She looks back at the holo-projector on her watch and together they step back into the corridor, closing the door to Ben’s room behind them. He can find out in the morning. 

_“Today, we look to the planet of Jakku. A desert, filled with the worst creatures in the galaxy. They use the First Order’s resources and provide very little in return. Sustenance and water for what? Scrap metal? Returning our own property back to us? They are scum. Today, they shall be made an example of.”_

Poe sits in the garden of the Temple of Yavin, Finn to one side of him and his father Kes to the other. BB-8 is perched comfortingly at Poe’s feet, beeping soothing words to him. 

Brendol Hux’s speech projects to them through his father’s holopad, but Poe is only half-heartedly listening. He’s looking up at the sky, dreading the prospect of witnessing such a horrendous event. A genocide. And the First Order treats it like it’s nothing.

He feels sick, thinking about having to marry into that. Perhaps this will be a deterrent, will convince Leia that there’s nothing left to do for peace between their two sides of politics. The thought plants the smallest seed of hope in him, but it’s tamped down by the realization that the First Order isn’t technically breaching the agreement. The bastards found a loophole. It’s the first of many, Poe is sure.

“I can’t believe they’re going to get away with this,” Finn mumbles angrily from his place next to Poe. “This is awful. Jakku hasn’t done anything wrong.”

Poe shakes his head and drags his hand down his face, rubbing his eyes and smoothing out the five o’clock shadow growing upon his face. He feels stressed, overwhelmed — helpless in the face of such a massive, terrible disaster.

“There is nothing we can do but watch and mourn,” Kes instructs.

_“This day will go down in history as the first day of a new era. This new weapon will keep order in the galaxy for generations to come. Long live the First Order!”_

_Armies of Stormtroopers raise their fists in salute as the weapon rages red, one long stream of plasma shooting out towards the nondescript beige planet in the distance: Jakku._

Rey gazes out the small window of her quarters, the speech echoing around Starkiller Base, the ray of light blasting out from somewhere to her right. She feels sick at the realization that she’s on the weapon, seeking refuge on it, in order to survive. Her mind wanders to all the people on Jakku that she met over the years. Most were terrible creatures that in her heart of hearts, Rey knows deserved to die.

But she thinks of the elderly woman often scrubbing her scrap metal across from her in town. She’d taught Rey how to scrub effectively, how to spread out her findings over several days, to keep a steady flow of food in her home and in her belly. Rey wouldn’t have survived if that woman hadn’t taken her under her wing. They didn’t even share a language, yet she’d imparted the skills Rey needed in order to survive.

And now she was dead. Everyone Rey knew on that planet was dead. She watched it burst into a ball of flame, shards of the planet shooting outwards in every direction. While part of Rey was relieved that the junk traders like Plutt were gone forever, her heart ached. More so than the loss of the other innocent lives on the planet, Rey felt broken at the realization that now her parents would never, ever find her.

She could hear the cheers of First Order staff echoing up and down the hallways of the base. Even in a more secluded, empty area of the base, there were staff everywhere. Starkiller Base was a crowded, efficient temple for the evil and dark-willed. She was surrounded by them. And in that moment as she watched everything she’d ever known disintegrate into dust in space, she felt a darkness sweep through her. Anger. Frustration. Fear. Hurt.

Rey clenched her hands in her lap, the emotions swirling inside of her, filling her to the brim with more than she knew what to do with. 

A surge of energy seemed to shoot right from her heart. She didn’t move, but she heard a burst, felt shards of glass flying at her. When she blinked her eyes open, she was pulled from her thoughts, brought back to reality. In all her anger, she’d burst one of the lamps on the wall near her cot. Pieces of glass lay on her blanket, on her body, on the floor. 

But Snoke had suppressed her powers. She shouldn’t have been able to do that.

Rey didn’t know what was happening, and she feared what came next.


	6. Act I, Chapter VI: Joined in Holy Matrimony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young royals from the Resistance and First Order are brought together with the rest of the galaxy's high society to celebrate the union of Queen Connix and Governor Wexley. Tallie Lintra faces the world for the first time since news of the divorce, and Ben becomes enthralled with the Hand to the Prince of Arkanis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to all who have read and continue to read. <3

Of all the places Prince Poe of Yavin had been to for diplomatic proceedings, the most opulent had to be Naboo. Its palaces were adorned with intricate carvings and artwork, beautiful gold accents, and more velvet and silk than any one palace had any business owning. He didn’t expect that the palace would be able to go above and beyond its standard décor, but it in fact had done just that.

The wedding of Governor Temmin Wexley of Akiva to Queen Connix of Naboo was the social event of the season. Every royal in the galaxy would be in attendance, and would be joined by all of high society. It would prove to be an extravagant affair, gold on every surface, every utensil, every goblet. Each attendee would wear their finest, all the women primping to be best dressed, second only to the bride, and each man would attend in the best traditional, high-class garb. Those who were married would enjoy the festivities with their partners, and those who were not would be fools not to use the event as an opportunity to mingle and find someone of their own to wed.

Poe wore a pale linen suit, just a few shades from white — a tunic, well-fitting trousers, and a waistcoat with gorgeous crimson accents. The tunic had a deep split in it at the collar, buttons loose as it casually draped open from neck to sternum. The waistcoat remained open, crimson trimmings accentuating golden buttons and embroidery. It was a family heirloom, a jacket worn by every Prince of Yavin since the Clone Wars. His trousers accentuated his shapely bum, ending at his ankles, just above the rim of his brown leather loafers.

He’d taken care to slick his hair into a more manageable array of curls, paying extra attention to a few at the front, knowing full well that when one or two dropped across his forehead, he could gain a double take from at least a few attendees at the wedding. He wore traditional jewelry from his family’s collection — several golden rings encrusted with stones mined from the caves of Yavin IV, and his usual chain around his neck, carrying his mother’s wedding ring. Even when dressed so extravagantly for a wedding, he left the ring there. It would never leave him, not if he had any say in the matter.

Of course, before they’d taken off his father had to approve the outfit, but he had — of _course_ he had, because Poe went to great lengths to keep up a dashing, debonair appearance — and then they’d left Yavin IV for Naboo, right on schedule.

The arrival on the planet itself is an affair — they’re brought to a private landing area, following which they would be greeted and their aircraft would be taxied by service staff to a private hangar on the palace grounds. Carriage speeders would take guests in groups to the palace grounds, to the front staircase of the Royal Palace of Theed, where the wedding would take place.

Poe sees people he recognizes everywhere around him: Korr Sella of Hosnian Prime, Larma D’Acy of Chandrila, even Tallie Lintra of Coruscant has made an appearance. 

That surprises Poe; he’d heard she was in mourning, having difficulty moving on from the divorce. Having heard Ben’s side of the story, he’s shocked by the rumors of her coping with their split, and pleased to see that she has returned to royal society, if only for one day.

She looks stunning, wearing a deep navy blue dress, the golden collar clasped around her neck. The dress lacks shoulders, the sleeves beginning with golden bands wrapped around her upper arms, instead, tulle fabric draping to golden wrist cuffs. She’s the picture of elegance and shows no signs of mourning on her face. Though she’s opted against a form-fitting dress unlike many of the other women, she still looks to be in the running for the best-dressed at the wedding — a high honor, indeed. 

Their eyes meet, and Poe greets her across the wide, sprawling staircase with a smile and a slow nod. Her smile, though sad, meets his, and she nods her greeting in return.

The ceremony itself is every bit as emotional and beautiful as one would expect from a Queen. Connix wears all the traditional ornamental garb of Queens of Naboo from generations past — jewels dating back to Queen Amidala and before. She’s foregone the traditional white face painting, which had been a scandal when she’d first proposed it, but was now accepted by most. A few Nabooians still scorned her for it, but the majority accepted that for one day, one of the most memorable of her entire life, she could forego the traditional paint for standard makeup.

And Wexley, too, appeared in his finest. Poe recognized the robes as the same ones he’d worn for his coronation. The cerulean blue was a beautiful contrast against the starched white garb Connix wore. His suit was traditional — trousers, undershirt, jacket — and he wore a cape he’d had custom-made to complete the look. It had silver ornamentation along the seams and what appeared to be an embroidered landscape of some kind stretching the span of his cape.

The way they looked at each other… it made Poe ache with jealousy.

His heart twisted, conflict coursing through him, as he watched his couple so obviously, madly in love, exchange vows to always be loyal and true to one another. Poe dwelled upon those as he considered what it would feel like to say such a thing to someone he didn’t love. Even if there was love, but not in the romantic sense, it wouldn’t be easy. His heart hurt for Ben, but more than that, it hurt at the prospect of his own future. Would he be in Wexley’s place, saying those words to someone he didn’t care for? Or would he have the luck and fortune of a marriage for love? Could Leia forge peace without arranging a marriage?

His fate was still incredibly unclear after the destruction of Jakku, and he wished Leia knew more. But these things took time, he knew. And it was about more than just a marriage — it was about relations between the First Order and the Resistance. Many things had to be taken into consideration.

After the official union, once they’d said their vows and had been presented as husband and wife, Poe rose with everyone else and followed through the palace until they reached the ballroom. 

It was as intricately decorated as the wedding hall, with the finest draperies and furniture that money could buy. The entire room was cloaked in a warm golden glow, light reflecting from the golden tapestries and wall panelings, the accents on the dishes, the warm-colored woods of the tables and chairs, those too accented with gold leaf. 

Seating was assigned, which was a standard at weddings, and Poe already had a suspicion as to who he’d be sitting with. Sure enough, most of the other royals his age had nameplates at his table, his father off with Queen Leia, Viceroy Han, and the other senior leadership in the Resistance.

Ben was already there, brooding over a glass of crimson wine, so Poe took the liberty of swapping nameplates with Tallie so he could sit next to Ben and prevent that awkward situation from ever occurring. He had no problem sitting between them — Poe prided himself on being able to talk to almost anyone, at any time. 

Almost anyone, that was.

Conversation with Captain Phasma and Prince Hux, who were approaching seats across the table from him, would likely prove to be much more difficult. 

Ben wore shades of purple, which surprised Poe. Since he’d had a choice in his clothing, Ben had always opted for black when he had the chance. He wore it when they’d been invited to Wexley’s coronation, and to various other smaller-scale weddings the royal families were invited to. 

He wore a smart lilac tunic with a deep purple velvet smock over it. A silver belt slung loosely around his waist, constructed of a chain of jewels falling below the hems of his tunic and smock to drape down his leg, to mid-thigh. He wore black boots, the perfect match to his raven hair. The cape he’d worn, the same purple with a lilac lining, was already draped over the back of his chair, which was not custom. They were to wear the capes until their attendants came to take them away for them, was was tradition. Based upon Ben’s expression and the volume of his goblet of wine, Poe would guess that Ben had been there a while, pointedly avoiding saying hello to most of the guests.

“You surviving so far?” Poe asks, keeping his voice low enough that Phasma and Hux can’t hear.

Ben nods. Almost as soon as he is seated, Poe is greeted by a waiter who offers him a glass of wine. He takes it; knowing Connix, it’s going to be an absolutely delicious choice of wine. She makes it no secret that wines and vineyards are high on her list of interests.

“Good,” he responds. “That’s good. I uh… moved her.”

“I saw,” Ben says. “Thank you.”

Poe pats his shoulder and leaves it at that; the less they talk about in front of Hux and Phasma, the better. Though there may be peace in the galaxy, it’s fraught, and there’s no trust between the young royals in the First Order and the Resistance.

“Hello,” Phasma says amicably to the group gathered around the table.

Ben nods his greeting. Poe tips his head and says, “Hey there.”

“You’re all looking well rested,” Hux adds, the sarcasm dripping from his every syllable.

Poe knows it’s a lie, knows that he and Ben haven’t slept all that much in the past few days, nor have they slept _well_. They look a mess, and no amount of borrowed makeup products or good lighting can fix that.

Phasma gives him a well-aimed nudge to the ribs. As much as he may want to taunt and torture, it’s going to be a very long night of required gestures and pleasantries if he’s not careful. 

One of the downfalls of a royal wedding is the traditions passed down by royals of generations past — dances, customs, all of that. But first, they would eat, once all the guests were seated. Then, they would dance with each other, a built-in matchmaking custom. Poe dreaded it.

Their table was small — set for six — and those two seats were currently unoccupied between Poe and Hux. Chancellor Korr Sella of Hosnian Prime joined them, Tallie at her side. Tallie, the woman Ben hadn’t seen since they’d made their divorce official, and certainly hadn’t seen since the news broke. 

Tallie, his ex-wife.

The mood at the table shifted significantly, Hux and Phasma both looking between Ben and Tallie with a strange sort of curiosity, like when one soars past a crash and needs to see all the gruesome details of it. Poe knows his work is cut out for him, sitting between the two of them. It won’t do much to quell the awkwardness at the table, but he hopes to at least not let things get worse.

“Hello,” Phasma says to them. “Tallie, you look wonderful.”

Poe can’t tell if it’s the dress or her nerves, but Tallie is pale, her skin lacking its usual luster and glow. Phasma is clearly lying.

Politely, Tallie nods and responds cordially, “Thank you. As do you.”

Her long dark curls fall across her shoulders, a few masking her gaze as she focuses on the table, almost as if she’d styled herself in such a way on purpose. She vehemently refuses wine, opting instead for water. She drinks down almost the entire glass in one go. Poe is about to ask if she’s alright, but Korr beats her to it. Tallie just smiles politely and nods. 

“I was sorry to hear about your divorce,” Hux says.

His tone of voice says he was anything but sorry, and the whole table knows. But it’s a required pleasantry of him, so he won’t forego his duty. 

“Thank you,” says Tallie.

She glances to her right, beyond Poe, to where Ben is sitting and pretending to be incredibly enthralled by the beads of water dripping down his goblet of wine.

Korr clears her throat and says, “I think we would all appreciate it if we agreed not to discuss relationships this evening.”

Poe almost, _almost_ scoffed. It was easy for her to say, given that she was already betrothed to the pilot Nodin Chavdri, one of the lead pilots in the Resistance’s Reb Squadron. She was in much better shape than anyone else at the table when it came to relationships.

They all nodded their agreement regardless, because it would not do to argue or insist against it. They were there to make a good showing for their families, not just for the newly married couple, but also for the high-society visitors who often donated large sums of money and service to keep the royal families in prosperity.

“Well, I’m glad to see you out in society again, Tallie,” Phasma says, with a note of finality. “You’re looking wonderful in your dress. Is it a family heirloom?”

Tallie nods. “It was a gift to my mother from one of the previous Queens of Naboo,” she explains.

“It’s beautiful,” Phasma replies. 

Given how tomboyish Phasma can be at times, she excels at talking about the banalities of formal attire and physical appearance. This is one instance where Poe is actually incredibly grateful for it, because he had no idea how to steer the conversation away from the divorce — nor did he suspect many others at the table did, either.

Thankfully, conversation became unnecessary as their attendants appeared to take their capes from them. Poe had seen most of them before; Phasma had Mitaka, Rose stepped in to serve for Ben after one too many public shouting matches with C-3P0, Finn came to Poe’s side. Tallie had Jessika, and Korr had Cova. 

But none had seen Hux with an attendant in a very long time, so when a young woman stepped to his side, arm extended so that he could drape his cape delicately across it, everyone stared.

She was beautiful, far more beautiful than any attendant had any business being. They all wore the most formal dresses their houses allowed — some loaned dresses to their attendants, as Tallie and Korr had, and others just bought them the attire for such occasions, as the rest had done.

But had they not seen this woman serving Hux, they would never have known she was an attendant, rather than an honored guest. She wore a light gray dress, which complimented Hux’s in color. It was adorned with silver thread, a cinched pattern embroidered across the bodice, silver cord the only thing holding the dress over her shoulders. It bore no sleeves, and layers upon layers of elegant tulle fell in waves around her legs, hiding her feet from view. Her hair was put up in three buns down the back of her head, silver beadwork interwoven behind all of them, joining the buns in a variation on a chignon. Though she appeared to wear no makeup other than a hint of mascara, she looked the vision of beauty.

Hux smugly looked across the table once he’d handed off his cloak to the girl. 

“Jealous, Solo?”

Poe looked over sharply, in time to notice the way Ben was staring at this girl, awestruck. But something else was in his gaze, something Poe couldn’t read. He felt a fizzle, a crackle of energy — sometimes when Ben was channeling the Force particularly strongly, Poe could feel it. He blamed it on years of living near a Force-sensitive tree, but Ben argued that it meant Poe had an acute sensitivity to the Force. It’s what made him such a great pilot.

But Poe didn’t believe it, he wasn’t one of the good guys like that. He didn’t have the patience to meditate and train as Ben had once done, before he’d given up on using the Force.

As Ben gazed up at the girl, Poe feeling the residual waves of his friend channeling the Force, he noticed when he looked back that she, too, seemed just as enthralled. Though confusion knit across her brow, and her head tilted to the side just so, Poe could tell something else was happening. Was she sensitive to the Force, as well?

If there were ever a time he’d consider testing the waters and trying to wield it himself, it would have been in that moment. He wanted to know what was happening. Had they forged a connection? Were they having a conversation?

“Solo.”

Phasma unceremoniously barking his name pulled Ben from his long-standing gaze with Rey, and it pulled Poe, too, from his thoughts. They both looked to Phasma and when Poe glanced over Hux’s shoulder for the girl a moment later, she was gone. 

“Gentlemen, has anyone ever told you that it’s rude to stare?” Hux says, looking incredibly pleased at having stunned the other royal men so easily. “Especially with your ex-wife at the table, Solo?”

“It’s fine,” Tallie offers, though the emotion in her voice indicates that it is most definitely _not_ fine.

Poe shakes his head. “We haven’t seen you with an attendant in a long time, Hux,” he says by way of explanation.

“In our house, they are called our Hand,” Hux corrects. “That is Rey. She is temporarily serving as Hand to the Prince of Arkanis — _me_ — until such a time as the Supreme Leader sees her fit to begin serving the First Order in earnest.” He glances over his shoulder, and then back to the group. 

“Supreme Leader?” Korr asks. “Does she have anything to do with the demonstration of the weapon you and the First Order just executed?”

Phasma smiles; it’s only then that Poe realizes she’s gone through the effort of putting on makeup. Her lips are crimson red, her eyes adorned with smokey black makeup. She looks like a woman. Often, she wears military fatigues or other outfits typically worn by male royals. Her makeup combined with the black gown she wears makes her look like an entirely different person. It’s almost enough to distract Poe entirely, to cause him to rethink everything he thought he knew about this woman.

“In a way,” Hux replies. He’s dropped the smug tone in his voice. Now, he’s returned to his usual air of superiority. “We went to the planet in search of humans worthy of serving the First Order. She was the most extraordinary one we found. The Supreme Leader took special interest in her and her skills.”

“Her skills?” Poe asks.

He doesn’t like the way that sounds.

“She is very strong,” Phasma intones. “We found her defending herself in a small outpost town where several men were trying to steal the meager portions of food she’d earned that day. She was absolutely brilliant. She could match anyone in combat with little training, I’m sure of it.”

If anyone were to be an expert on combat and training, it would be Captain Phasma. She comes from a planet where military service is required and expected, and so ingrained in their culture that the formal royal titles are simply modeled after military ranks. 

Poe glances back over Hux’s shoulder. He still cannot see the girl, but he finds it difficult to picture a woman who looks so dignified and so calm wrapped up in life-or-death combat. But he had never visited Jakku, and he didn’t know the circumstances. People are different depending on where they are and who they are with, Poe knows.

“So she’s only your Hand temporarily?” Korr inquires.

“Correct,” Hux nods. “Her fate is in the Supreme Leader’s hands.”

Poe can still feel the tingles and crackles emanating from Ben, and he glances over to see if he’s okay. Nobody else at the table is looking oddly at Ben, so he’s at least managed to keep his emotions hidden from his face.

Their food arrives moments later, one course after another, until they’ve spent two hours consuming ten different courses. The final one, naturally, is the customary wedding dessert chosen by the couple. It’s a rich, decadent cake, a mixture of flavors Poe can’t even begin to discern — he tastes a hint of flowers, but also fruit, but the richness of chocolate carries it all. 

Full to the brim with the finest foods that Naboo could offer, most guests take their time with the cake and their dessert wine, lounging at their tables while wedding attendants begin to clear areas of the ballroom for dancing. Poe feels a nervous twist in his gut. It is custom that everyone who is not betrothed or married share a dance with someone of their station — the only real way to get single royals to mingle — and his selection at the table is sparse.

Poe wonders if it would be uncomfortable for Ben if he asked him to dance; though they both knew a marriage between them would never work, it’d save them from having to dance with anyone from the First Order, or for Ben to have to dance with his ex-wife. That connection also meant that Poe didn’t exactly want to dance with Tallie either, because he feared Ben would take it the wrong way — either as Poe taking sides, or as Poe possibly exploring a relationship with her himself. 

In short order, Poe’s decision is made for him. Korr and her fiancé bring over a young man for Tallie, and before Poe can so much as open his mouth, Phasma asks Ben to dance. 

Ben looks reluctant to do so, but he agrees, knowing his limited options. Ben sends an apologetic look over his shoulder to Poe as he walks to the dance floor, but it does nothing to soothe him. 

Poe will have to dance with Hux. 

“Well then, I suppose we ought to get this done and over with,” Hux says, setting down his goblet of wine. “Shall we?”

Poe nods, but before he moves to stand he tips back his goblet, chugging down the wine even though it wasn’t meant to be consumed in such a way. It’s the type of wine meant to be savored and sipped, appreciated over a long period of time. Hux notices immediately, but rather than taking offense, he follows suit, a sparkle in his eye that makes Poe feel like suddenly things have become a competition, and he’s currently in second place to Hux.

“I guess so, yeah,” Poe nods, standing from his chair. “Let’s go, Hugs.”

It’s petty and childish, but he knows calling him _Hugs_ instead of _Hux_ will irk the man to no end, and Poe will take his satisfaction and his revenge wherever possible.

Hux stands, scowling, and meets him at the other side of the table, his hand offered as is custom. Poe takes it, shivering as he does. Hux’s touch is cold. In such a warm ballroom filled with so many people, the man is somehow _cold_. 

Poe feels short next to him, knows the role he’ll be expected to fill: following Hux as he leads their dance together. It’s something Poe had to try to shake many years ago when he realized as all his male acquaintances and Phasma continued to grow taller than he, that he’d reached the height he’d be at for the rest of his life. It was difficult for him not to gain a complex as a result, but he feels he’s succeeded, most of the time.

Sure enough, as Hux turns to face Poe on the dance floor, he places the hand not already grasping one of Poe’s at the man’s waist. Poe’s suit is thin; he feels Hux’s cool fingers through the linen and shivers again. Perhaps dancing will warm him up. Poe places his free hand on Hux’s shoulder over the intricate black beadwork of his grey suit. The muted colors of his attire causes Hux’s hair to be the first thing that catches a person’s eye, soon followed by his striking green eyes. Poe looks away.

Their remaining hands stay clasped as they begin to dance. The music is upbeat in tempo, enough so that they must spend their energy and focus on their footwork in lieu of trying to make conversation. 

But in a stroke of bad luck, the upbeat tune tapers off into a slow ballad, the live orchestra to the side of the ballroom moving into a beautiful arrangement of stringed instruments, the song tender and full of love, just as most couples — especially the married couple — must be feeling that evening. The feeling doesn’t extend to Hux and Poe, who are now stuck dancing together for a slow song.

Poe’s expression must sour without him realizing, because a moment later, Hux scowls and says, “Oh please, I’m not the worst dancer here.”

“It’s not your dancing that bothers me, Hugs.”

Poe looks over Hux’s shoulder, watching all the other much happier pairs dancing. He spots his father, laughing and smiling with Admiral Holdo. It’s tough to see, but his father deserves to move on from the loss of his mother. They all should. 

“Ah. It’s me as a _human_ that you detest.”

That draws a chuckle from Poe, and he shifts his gaze to look up into Hux’s eyes. “I just don’t agree with a lot of the things you do,” Poe explains. “If you were a nicer guy with the same face, I might not be so bothered.”

Hux narrows his eyes. “You find me attractive?”

Poe looks away. He’s had more wine than he thought, if he’s saying such a thing. Was he saying that? It’s difficult to tell. He puts his energy back into dancing, vaguely noticing that as they’ve begun to sway to the ballad, they’ve grown closer, now pressed chest to chest. Poe doesn’t remember that happening, doesn’t know who started it. He’s not sure he wants to find out.

They sway for a few more beats in silence before Hux confesses, “I could say the same for you. Attractive, but boneheaded. Your military tactics are —”

“Careful there, Hugs. If you’re any nicer to me, I might just fall in love with you,” Poe mocks.

Hux purses his lips and looks directly over Poe’s head when Poe tries to meet his gaze. It’s tense, the music ill-suited to the mood between the two men. Hux finds it difficult to keep his gaze trained away from the person he’s dancing with; it’s not how he was raised, how he was taught to dance. It’s meant to be an intimate gesture, something beautiful between two people. Not this.

When their eyes meet again, something different happens, something Poe doesn’t want to think about. Hux’s scowl is gone, as is his usual tense expression. Softened, his facial features seem less harsh and more beautiful — his sharp cheekbones, his soft pink lips. His green eyes are striking and Poe’s gaze lingers a little too long in them. His attention is only drawn away by the flicker of Hux’s tongue over his own lips, wetting them. 

Poe knows he’s had too much to drink. He _has_ to have drunk far too much if he’s wondering if Hux is going to kiss him. It’s been so long since he’s been kissed, he’d take it, even from a man commanding in the First Order, plotting against Poe and his people. 

A loud bang pulls them sharply from their moment, the orchestra stopping as everyone looks to see what all the commotion is about. Poe sees Tallie fleeing from the ballroom, tulle gown flowing out behind her in beautiful, dramatic waves. In her path stands Ben, accompanied not by Phasma, as Poe would have expected, but the girl Rey. 

Rey looks sharp and stiff, a scowl still focused on Ben as he looks dumbly out at the crowd now staring at them. 

“What in —?” 

Hux quickly walks towards Rey, easily leaving Poe forgotten on the dance floor. He’s embarrassed that his Hand would be drawing such attention to herself, that more than that, Ben Solo had something to do with all the staring and whispering.

Poe’s attention is elsewhere, though, focused on the fact that something upset Tallie — likely seeing Ben and Rey doing whatever it was they were doing — and she’s all alone, still hurting from the divorce. Poe chases after her, decency be damned, to make sure she’s alright.

He sees her nowhere in the halls of the palace, but doesn’t stop his pursuits. He runs frantically, up and down empty corridors, footsteps and heavy breathing echoing around him as he presses on.

Finally, halfway across the castle, he sees a flash of navy blue fabric around a corner and shouts, “Tallie!”

Soon, two sets of footfalls on the stone floor turn to one, and when Poe careens into the corridor, breathless, he sees her. She standing in the hallway, shoulders slumped, hair frizzier than it had been before. The hallway is dark, nothing but a stream of moonlight from the window, casting across the room just in front of her, illuminating only the lowermost hem of her dress.

“Tallie. What happened?” Poe asks, walking towards her.

Though he hadn’t known her for as long as he’d known Ben, Poe still had a good relationship with Tallie. It was through Ben, which made it slightly awkward when the two split, but she needed people behind her to support her, and Poe wasn’t going to abandon Tallie just because she and Ben didn’t stay together. 

“Come on,” he says, taking her hand and leading her to the bench next to the window.

Tallie follows, pliant and quiet. She ducks her head, hiding her face from view, as she sits next to Poe. He sees a few droplets on the front of her dress, and if he’d have to guess, he’d say they were tears. 

“What happened?” he asks.

Tallie shook her head. “It’s… everything. Nothing.”

Poe pats her shoulder, noticing how cold she is beneath his touch. Unlike with Hux, he doesn’t find it irritating. On the contrary, it makes him worry more for her. Gently, he rests an arm around her shoulders to try to share her warmth. “Sounds awfully poetic.”

She snorts in laughter, and then sniffles. One hand drifts to her face and she wipes away a few more tears. “They were only talking,” she says. “I shouldn’t have been upset by it. But they were whispering, and they kept looking out at the ballroom, and I just got so paranoid that they were talking about me. That the reason he wasn’t around was because of her.”

“No, no, it’s not,” Poe insists. “He just met her tonight.”

“That doesn’t make it any better,” Tallie snaps.

Poe hesitates. She’s right, it doesn’t, and it just piles onto the confusion of the situation. 

“They had a weird Force interaction earlier,” Poe explains, hoping to put Tallie at ease. “I think if they were talking about anything, it was that. Ben thought until tonight that he was one of the only people left in the galaxy who could use the Force. So it’s a really big deal if he meets someone else. And right now she’s working for the Hux family, so… maybe he’s trying to change that.”

Tallie sniffles again. “I think you may be overestimating him, just a little.”

Poe sighs. It’s hard for him to reconcile where the couple had once been with where they are now. 

“Well, I’m sorry if he ruined your night,” Poe offers. “D’you have a way home?”

“I have to wait for Holdo,” Tallie explains. “But I’ll be alright.”

Poe sits up and pushes the dark curls out of her face, tucking them behind her ear. When her eyes meet his, Poe can tell that she’s been crying, that she probably won’t want to go back into the ballroom. 

“It’s alright,” Poe says. “I can wait here with you. I got sick of dancing with Hux, anyway.”

Tallie laughs, just a little, and Poe feels a bit better. Deep down, he crosses his fingers and hopes that this is the last marriage drama they’ll have to endure for a long, long time.


	7. Act I, Chapter VII: Marriage and a War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo Ren meets with Supreme Leader Snoke, gaining intel on his new mission, one he must not fail. Back on Arkanis, Hux and his family teach Rey how to serve them, and Hux has an important conversation with his mother. While Snoke has been plotting the demise of The Resistance, Elizabeth Hux has been making plans for her son -- plans he may not particularly appreciate.

“Supreme Leader.”

Kylo Ren kneels down before his master, head bowed. It has been days since Snoke requested an audience, and Ren is ready for more instruction. Now that Jakku has been destroyed and a Force-sensitive girl acquired, there is much to be done in order to continue the grasp of the First Order across the galaxy.

“My loyal apprentice,” begins Snoke.

As in most of their meetings, Snoke sits in his throne, leaned to one side, watching Ren closely. He prods into his mind, catching up on anything Ren may not have already told him, ensuring he knows all there is to know about the goings on in his apprentice’s head. It will not do to allow Ren to think freely, to begin formulating thoughts of mastery and power.

“I have sent the girl Rey to stay with the Hux family.”

Ren looks up sharply. He had been wondering what the Supreme Leader planned to do with her, or when she would begin her training, but doesn’t understand the delay.

“In time, she will become your apprentice,” Snoke assuages Ren. “But before that, you must carry out a far more important task. You must prove yourself worthy of becoming a Master.”

Ren takes a deep breath. He’s proven himself time and time again, doing whatever the Supreme Leader asks of him, regardless of the cost. But arguing such a point will get him nowhere; Ren must be obedient, he must ask for orders, and he must carry them out.

“What do you need me to do?”

Snoke sits up in his throne, leaning forward, thrusting his gnarled, mangled face into the light streaming down from the ceiling, highlighting every deformity. “Stand.”

Immediately, Ren follows his orders. He keeps his gaze focused on Snoke, attentively listening for his next set of orders. He will carry them out, and he will _not_ fail.

“Before we can effectively use you and Rey and your Knights as a battalion of Force-users against them, we must ensure that the Resistance has no defenses against _you_.”

Ren is quiet. He waits with bated breath, though he knows where this is going.

“You must find Skywalker, and he must be destroyed.”

“Supreme Leader —”

“Is there a problem with my orders?” Snoke interrupts.

A chill shoots down Ren’s spine; he knows he’s treading dangerously, challenging the Supreme Leader’s orders. 

“Not at all,” Ren amends quickly. “But the girl.”

Snoke tips his head to the side, snarling a sickening smile as he studies his apprentice. Ren is indeed caught up on this girl; he will hear what he has to say about her.

“She is strong with the Force. Untrained. If her powers go unchecked, it could cause disaster for the Hux family.”

Ren can hear the emotion in his voice, even through the modulator of his helmet. He knows Snoke has no tolerance for emotions, and does not permit them. But Rey is stronger than she knows, and must be trained as soon as possible.

“Would disaster for the Hux family really be all that tragic?” 

It is Snoke’s only reply, and a fair assessment of the situation. Ren looks down and confesses, “No, Supreme Leader.”

“They could die, for all you care,” Snoke continues, reading Ren’s mind, his every swirling thought. “In fact, now that you are thinking of it, you would prefer she stay there. You would prefer she rain chaos upon the Huxes, for your betterment.” Snoke leans forward. “Your mind is truly dark, and you must channel that in your mission.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader.”

Ren knows there’s no point in arguing. He must find Luke Skywalker, and he must destroy him before he allies with the Resistance. That is his task, and he must do anything in his power to achieve it.

——

The Arkan City Estate is quiet; it usually is, nothing but the rain splashing against the windows to cut the silence of the Hux home. The Estate is sprawling, expansive, gives each resident their own space. It is ideal, given the residents don’t get along much. At the very least, Hux grows tired of his parents very quickly, and appreciates having a private study and library and wing to retreat to when their presence becomes too much.

But now, with a Hand to assist him in his day to day routine, things feel a little less quiet. The girl only speaks when she’s spoken to, and understands his daily routine enough to know when to enter his quarters, and when to leave him be, but he still finds himself conversing more than he had once done.

The evening after the Wexley wedding, Hux is lounging on his chaise near the window, wearing his black silken pajamas before the sun has even set. He’s opted to take dinner in his room that evening, still tired from the events of the day before. Dressing up and being on his best behavior amongst the other high-society of the galaxy is exhausting work. He prefers to do it as infrequently as possible, so as to not drain himself quite this much.

And then there had been the dancing with Prince Poe, which was an entirely different affair, one he’d rather not indulge in thinking upon. And of course, Rey’s blatant draw of attention during the dance. He hadn’t gotten many details from her as he’d dragged her away as surreptitiously as he could, nor did she seem keen on indulging him. All he knew was that Solo had accused her of being able to wield the Force, and it was unnerving for Hux.

Of course he knew she could, but she was unskilled and untrained. If the Supreme Leader saw no point in training her before putting her into society, Solo certainly had no business concerning himself with her. It was offensive, that he’d make such a public display to challenge the Supreme Leader, but Hux had heard neither hide nor hair of any sort of repercussions for what he’d done, so the deed seemed to be going unpunished.

Hux crosses his legs as he lounges back upon the chaise, reading the day’s news lazily from his holopad as he waits for Rey to bring him his dinner. The news is nothing particularly thrilling: the main story was of course the summary of Wexley and Connix’s wedding, with a slew of additional articles touching on the best dressed, the most exciting developments, and other banal social news. 

He’d pointedly side-eyes the headline that spoke of he and Dameron dancing, and makes the conscious decision not to read it. His mother would be disappointed, of course, but Hux doesn’t want to know what people are speculating about them. Are they marrying? Are they not? It was a silly antiquated custom in which they’d graciously indulged, and had no plans of repeating. That was all there was to it. If Dameron had thoughts on the matter, he certainly wasn’t taking to the news to set the record straight, and for that, Hux was grateful. Airing one’s grievances via the news was tacky at best, and certainly a waste of one’s time.

Rey appears right on time at 20:00, carrying a tray of the evening’s fixings courtesy of the family chef. It was some sort of fowl, matched with vegetables and legumes. A standard meal for a weeknight in the Hux home. Rey carefully carries it to Hux, who sits upright when she steps nearer to him. “I’ll take it at my desk,” he says, gesturing to the side.

She nods and carries the tray over for him, and then turns to face him. They haven’t spoken since the ordeal, at least not about what happened. It’s just been basic pleasantries, and Hux hadn’t minded the shortness with which they spoke. But the way she stands nearby, watching him without her usual forced smile tells Hux that now is the time for the conversation. All he must do now is make it end as soon as possible.

“Yes?” Hux asks as he stands, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Yesterday wasn’t my fault.”

Even in a service role, she clearly finds it difficult to hold her tongue. Hux would be offended if he wasn’t so amused. He just waits, to see if she’ll offer more as an explanation.

“He cornered me and insisted on talking to me about the Force. I hadn’t even known I was using it earlier, and I don’t know what happened,” she continues explaining. “I tried to follow your orders not to engage in conversation. I don’t want to be back in that cell.”

Hux nods. “I’m aware of your preference not to return to the cell,” he says. “I was not watching; I can make no judgments on the interaction. You know this.”

Rey crosses her arms. Her defiance is back in full force. “Then why are you still mad at me?”

“This is just how I am,” Hux replies. He takes a seat upon the chair facing his desk. The food smells delectable, and he takes a sip of wine from the goblet before he looks over his shoulder to her. “I am disappointed that the family was embarrassed, but it comes as no shock to me that it was due to a blunder made by Ben Solo.”

She walks towards Hux, closer to the edge of the desk to allow him to eat while they have a conversation. As he takes his first bite of food, he gestures with his utensil to the plush chair near the window, adjacent to the desk. Rey hesitates, but then turns it and takes a seat, as he’s invited her to do.

“You hate Ben Solo.”

It’s a fair assessment, and Hux isn’t surprised that she’s picked up on it. Aside from being on opposite sides of this not-war the Resistance and First Order are in, he’s made his disdain for Solo very obvious just in the few conversations they have had. 

“He’s a bumbling idiot coasting by on his mother’s fame and fortune,” Hux replies coolly. “I think Alderaan has a very difficult future ahead if he doesn’t marry well. Lintra was supposed to be the planet’s last hope, but that has ended quickly.”

“You don’t think he’s capable of leading?”

Hux shakes his head and replies easily, “Not at all. To be honest, none of the young Resistance members are fit to run their faction. Mark my words: the moment the elder leaders are retired and the young ones step in, war will break out. Phasma and I have no patience for the likes of them. Unless they can prove to us that they are not weak nor too emotional, we will destroy them.”

Rey tips her head to the side. “Why?”

Hux’s knife cuts smoothly through the cut of fowl on his plate. It’s tender and juicy; prepared perfectly by the same chef who has cooked for them for decades. Hux dreads the day the man passes away and they must find someone new. He takes a bite and chews contemplatively. 

“The galaxy needs order. They need structure and rules. Most — including Solo, mind you — just need somebody to provide direction and leadership,” Hux explains. “The Resistance believes that can be achieved through democracy and representation in a Galactic Senate. They’ve thought so for generations. But their own structure allowed for a Sith Lord to rise to power during the Clone Wars, and to be frank, nothing can be more damning for their case than that. Not to mention, they have never fully recovered from such a mishap.”

“You want to rule the galaxy?” Rey asks, her voice free from judgment.

“Personally? As fun as it may sound… no. I’d rather not have that target painted upon my back.” 

Hux delicately brings another cut of fowl to his mouth and chews, savoring the flavors upon his tongue. 

“Please pass my compliments to the chef on this dish, would you?” Hux asks.

“Of course,” Rey nods. 

She eyes it hungrily, a gaze which cannot go unnoticed. Hux raises an eyebrow and asks, “Have you ever tasted ibbot?”

Rey shakes her head. “I’ve only had the portions you saw on Jakku, and the stew the chef prepares for the staff.”

“Hmm,” Hux responds. “You may have had some ibbot broth then, or some less favorable cuts.”

She shakes her head. “Broth, maybe, but the stew had no meat in it that I could see.”

This conversation, this mutual respect the two of them have forged, it is unusual. Theirs is a relationship with the dynamics of servant and master, but mixed with what one might consider friendship. They speak amicably, similarly to how Hux speaks with Phasma. She will not serve him for long, not if the Supreme Leader has anything to say about it, and Hux contemplates whether he’ll be crossing a line if he offers her a bite of fowl. But ibbot is his favorite form of fowl, and it would be a pity for her to never know the taste of it.

Hux delicately cuts a slice, a modest portion of it, and lifts his fork, extending the handle of it towards her. “You ought to try it at least once,” he concedes.

Her eyes go wide; whether it be because of the proffered food or the gesture of sharing itself, Hux is unsure. He waits for her to consider, keeping his patience in check, until finally she allows herself to take hold of the utensil. Rey moves slowly — Hux expected her to be savage, almost, and he’d been prepared to scold her for scarfing down the meat — but she savors it instead. She brings it to her mouth and as the fork goes into her mouth, Hux watches the plush of her lips more closely than he should.

He stares as she blinks in quick succession, her eyes fluttering closed the moment the flavor of the fowl touches her tongue. She takes her time in pulling the fork from her lips, and he’d be a fool if he didn’t notice how pink and wet her lips were. Perhaps his lack of closure with Dameron the night before had more of an effect on Hux than he’d initially anticipated.

In all the holobooks he’d read, he’d laughed off the prospect of someone actually moaning when they tasted good food — it seemed such a storytelling construct, something that would never happen in real life. Though he’d tasted plenty of delicious foods in his time, the idea that someone would moan at a food’s flavor seemed absolutely absurd.

But when Rey does it, it sends an uncomfortable feeling soaring through him, desire pooling in the pit of his belly, and Hux is desperate to tamp it away. Her eyes flutter open as she chews, and Hux takes that moment to find his goblet and take a hearty swig from it. He forces himself to erase the thoughts in his head, the moan echoing in his ears.

Rey takes her time chewing the meat, and it takes her a moment to return to reality and remember to hand him back his fork. “That was… _amazing_ ,” she says, sounding awestruck and absolutely delighted.

Amazing hardly seems fitting for such a dish as ibbot, but Hux supposes it’s all she knows. Rey is likely uneducated, having grown up on Jakku. He finds himself wanting to ask about it, but bites his tongue. Their conversation has already lasted longer than is entirely proper. 

“Now you can say you’ve tasted ibbot,” Hux says, reclaiming his composure as best he can. “The best of all the waterfowl, in my opinion, but others would disagree.”

“Thank you,” Rey says. 

Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes dance with a childlike wonderment. He’d clearly underestimated the effect such a gesture would have on her. 

“You’re very welcome,” Hux responds. “That is all I require for now.”

He’s curt, drawing the line that they are _not_ friends, and that their conversation is over. He’d quite like to finish his dinner in peace.

All the light and mirth from Rey’s face disappears in a split second, replaced with a scowl and clear disappointment. Hux pays no mind to it; she is here to serve him, and if he tells her to leave, she will. She’s already got her sinful lips and moan trapped in his mind for him to try to erase; the last thing he wants is to risk even more graphic images that will keep him up at night.

“I’ll return at 21:00 to collect your dishes,” she says as she stands.

They’ve returned to strict formality, and though she’s clearly not pleased with this, she bites her tongue and leaves.

Hux groans and throws himself back against his chair, foregoing his meal for a moment. This development is quite possibly the very worst thing that could have happened to him.

——

Rey returns to take his tray of empty dishes to the kitchens, but doesn’t stop to talk with him that evening. Hux is grateful, albeit a bit curious as to why. That is, until his mother appears at the door a moment later, knocking gently before allowing herself entrance before he’s bid it. Hux remains relaxed upon his chaise, legs crossed at the ankles, a soft cashmere blanket draped over himself as he reads while a gentle thunderstorm roars outside his window. His room is drenched in the golden glow of lamps he’s attuned for such an ambiance, but his mother’s presence suddenly strikes everything cold.

He makes no motion to sit up, and watches as she seats herself in the very chair Rey had sat in when she’d visited earlier. His mother wears her dressing gown, and beneath it is likely one of her silken pearly nightgowns. Her hair is still in gorgeous ringlets framing her face and draping over her shoulder; she’s the epitome of perfect housewife, and Hux finds himself thinking fleetingly that Rey would never deign to behave in such a way.

“Hello, darling,” she says warmly, crossing one leg over the other as she situates herself facing her son.

Hux sets down his datapad and finally looks up to hold her gaze. “Mother,” he replies curtly.

“How are you? Last night was quite an eventful night.”

Given she’s begun their conversation with such a saccharine sweet tone and innocent question, Hux can safely assume that he is not going to like where this conversation is headed. Such has been the pattern for years upon years as he’s grown up in her home. If she cuts directly to what she needs to speak to him about, it’s usually far less detrimental to his overall wellbeing.

“I’m fine,” Hux responds. “Weddings are always an eventful affair.”

He knows his mother is hinting at Rey and the debacle between her and Solo, but he’s not going to take the bait.

“You looked very handsome,” Elizabeth continues.

Hux had of course known he looked good; he always does when he wears his perfectly-tailored suits and spends an inordinate amount of time on his hair and complexion. He’d poured much time and energy into his appearance, including choosing his dark grey suit. 

“Thank you,” he says. “And Rey appreciates you loaning her the dress for the occasion. She looked wonderful.”

“It felt silly loaning a handmaiden to the Hand of my son in order to prepare, but it seemed to be for the best,” she concedes, “Many guests founds it difficult to believe that she was in a service position, her hair was styled so well.”

“All the easier to pretend someone of the house was not ensconced in drama, no doubt.”

Elizabeth eyes her son; he has the same quick wit as she, and has learned to dance around unpleasant subjects just as she does, as well. It’d be infuriating if she wasn’t so proud. But there was only so much of that she would allow Armitage to get away with, and it seemed that moment had arrived.

“We need to discuss your future.”

Hux rolls his eyes before he sits up straighter on his chaise. He crosses his legs, his holopad perched on his calves as he studies his mother with exasperation. “You told me to find somebody. That takes time,” he responds.

She smiles in a way that makes Hux feel sick to his stomach. She looks so pleased with herself that whatever she says next, he knows it won’t be good.

“You found somebody,” she replies. “We saw you two last night.”

“Dameron and I aren’t —”

“You _are_.”

“No, mother, it was a dance out of courtesy, as we’re expected to do. Or have you forgotten the custom?” Hux argues.

Elizabeth’s smile never fades as she studies her son closely. “Armitage, you two held a gaze for much longer than appropriate.”

“Have you heard of privacy, mother?” Hux snaps. He’s had it with her nonsense. “We made a deal. I have time.”

She shakes her head. “No provisions were made regarding time,” she argues back. “I said that you must find somebody for yourself before I find someone for you. And you made my job much easier.”

“No.”

“Your father already presented the idea to Resistance leaders this morning,” Elizabeth says simply. “Given the tension, we think a marriage between factions may be helpful. Leia and Holdo agree, and we don’t need any further approval than that.”

Hux narrows his eyes. “You need Dameron’s approval.”

“We got approval from Duke Dameron,” she replies smoothly. “His father? Perhaps you’ve heard of him. He has the authority to make decisions such as these on behalf of his son.”

Frustrated with the situation, Hux stands and walks to the window. He curses the storm outside, and contemplates stepping into it anyway. The cool raindrops would feel good on his burning skin, the remnants of the night before flooding back to his mind. He hadn’t thought anything of their sharing a dance, that it may harm them in such a way. It was custom. Courtesy. Nothing more.

“Don’t be dramatic, darling,” admonishes his mother from where she still sits. 

Hux turns to look at her, and he’s infuriated to see that she still bears the same look of haughty superiority that she had when she’d delivered the news. Hux’s reaction has drawn no emotions from her. She doesn’t _care_.

“I’m not being dramatic, I’m being practical,” Hux argues. “Please explain to me how forcing two people who dislike each other into a marriage can possibly bring about peace?”

“It will show an effort to find common ground.”

Hux boredly responds, “We share no common ground.”

Elizabeth smiles smugly at her son. “You will. A marriage, and an estate,” she says. “Until one of you becomes king.”

“And when we both become king?”

“He will inherit a Dukedom, not a Kingdom,” Elizabeth clarifies. “His position will require far less supervision of day to day events on his planet, because a larger party governs them.”

“The Resistance,” Hux supplies.

Elizabeth nods. “Yes. The Resistance. So, when the time comes for you to become King — which will be many, many years from now, if we continue to have such good fortune,” she explains, “The two of you will take up residence here, at the Estate.”

“And he will leave Yavin IV behind,” Hux finishes.

Again, his mother nods. “You will need to take occasional retreats there for a week or two at a time, but never longer than that.”

Hux scowls. “A jungle planet? No thank you.”

She waves off his complaint easily. “Just stay indoors.”

He shakes his head and turns back to the window. He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his bathrobe and takes a deep breath. “Just give me more time. I can find someone.”

“You haven’t tried at all,” she argues.

“In what, five days? Six? No, I’m sorry mother, but I haven’t, as I’ve been too busy teaching Snoke’s new pet to serve us, on top of preparing for a wedding,” Hux snaps.

He glares daggers over his shoulder at her before stepping towards his bed.

“I can’t give you more time,” his mother says. She doesn’t sound apologetic in the slightest. “The marriage has already been arranged and agreed upon. Even the Supreme Leader bids it.”

“Why would he care?” Hux scowls.

He settles down upon his bed, pulling the thick, warm duvet up and over his lap. Perhaps if he continues to prepare to sleep, she’ll get the hint and leave.

“You would be doing a great service for him, visiting Yavin IV and cooperating with the Resistance,” Elizabeth says.

She stands, the layers of her clothing flowing like water around her legs, the fabric silken and shining in the lights. He curses her for being so beautiful, for being able to deceive people with her coy smile and her youthful expressions. Hux, however, learned long ago not to fall for her charms. Now, they just irritate him; he prefers when people speak plainly with him.

“You want me to spy on the Resistance.”

Gently, she lowers herself so she’s seated at the side of his bed, just as she used to do when she tucked him in when he was a child. “The _Supreme Leader_ wants you to spy on the Resistance. I cannot take the credit for his idea,” she says.

Hux rolls his eyes. “How modest of you,” he mocks. “I see no point. They won’t trust me, and therefore I won’t be privy to any of the information Snoke wants.” He rests back against the many pillows at the head of his bed. “It’s a stupid plan and it won’t work.”

“The Supreme Leader is wise,” she reminds Hux. “There are ways to get beyond that barrier with the Resistance. You and I both know it. You’re only resisting me because I’m your mother.” 

She leans forward and pushes a strand of hair out of his eyes. Hux pointedly shakes his head just enough to make it fall back in front of his eyes. If she’s going to speak to him like a child, he might as well act like one.

“You will convince Poe to fall in love with you. You will act every part you need to in order to become privy to Resistance intel. I have no doubt you’re correct in thinking Organa won’t let you near their private meetings, but she will let your future husband in. She trusts him irrevocably,” Elizabeth explains everything, speaking slowly, clearly, taking great care to ensure Hux absorbs every word. “This is a great test of your acting skills.”

“I haven’t participated in theatre since boarding school,” Hux scoffs. “It’s a waste of time and talent.”

“And now, it could be our greatest weapon against the Resistance,” she reminds him. “We have great faith in you. Convince him to love you, to tell you his secrets. Then, pass those along to us.”

She busies herself with adjusting the blankets on his bed, jostling them just enough that it’s reminiscent of when she tucked him in as a boy, though she really makes no difference in his comfort. Hux allows it as he mulls over the proposition. He knows he has no choice in the matter, aside from how much he commits himself to the act. But there’s more — there _has_ to be more. He considers the Resistance, the war, everything that has been laid out before him — plans made _about_ him, not _with_ him.

“Your father has already agreed,” Elizabeth reminds him. “You must do this, Armitage.”

There is one last question lingering in his mind.

“What of the marriage once we win the war? When Dameron discovers what I’ve done, and the Resistance is destroyed?” Hux asks. “You said in no uncertain terms that I am not, under any circumstances, to divorce.”

Elizabeth, though the picture of beauty and grace, manages to twist a smile so sinister it would make Phasma’s skin crawl. In the shadows of Hux’s dim bedroom lighting, her voice turns to barely a whisper as she says conspiratorially, “If he doesn’t die in combat… I will allow divorce. But only — _only_ — if you succeed with everything up until that point.”

That promise is all he needs to put his whole effort into his parents’ scheme. With the bright light at the end of the tunnel promising a divorce and a happy future without Dameron, Hux feels confident he can put into action the greatest performance he has ever given.


	8. Act I, Chapter VIII: Arrangements Have Been Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the Wexley wedding and the embarrassment afforded to both the Resistance and the First Order after Ben and Rey's blunder, both sides work quickly to repair the ever-crumbling Peace Accords. Queen Organa arranges a marriage with the First Order to try to retain any peace that remains. Meanwhile, on Coruscant, Tallie Lintra speaks with her handmaiden about everything that lays ahead for her, for her people, and for Ben.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder to please be sure to read over the tags!

It’s only been two days since the Wexley wedding, and things at the Royal Palace of Alderaan have gotten completely out of hand. Ben’s mild embarrassment for the family at the wedding aside, Resistance leadership has been increasingly concerned over the state of the galaxy and the current Peace Accords. Though the First Order didn’t breach the accords when destroying Jakku, they certainly disrupted what had been a precarious peace, at best.

Queen Leia was constantly in meetings, primarily with D’Acy and Holdo — she’d traveled to meet with some First Order leaders the day before, and now it was time to meet with the Damerons, to fill them in on what had been discussed in the time since the destruction of Jakku as well as the Wexley wedding. It was safe to assume that Leia hadn’t slept much in the past few days, her focus instead on trying to keep peace in the galaxy.

Watching the senior leadership gather together in the palace brought together several service workers whose charges were in that very room — the room they wished they could all be in, to hear was was going on. Undoubtedly, it would change things in the galaxy as they knew it. 

“Did Leia give you any hints at all about what this meeting was for?” Finn asks curiously.

He’s sitting with the Tico sisters on a small cushioned bench in the corridor just down the way from the conference room. The wing they were in had high ceilings, two or three storeys high, decorated with beautiful paintings from decades long ago. The cushion of the bench they sat on was likely worth more than they earned in a year, and contained both sentimental and collector’s value. The atrium of the wing in which they sat was the picture of status and opulence — and they all stood out like sore thumbs.

Rose and Paige wore their flight suits, the beige and dark brown a bland combination against the blues and greens and golds of most of the hallway. They’d flown the shuttles for several of the guests, so it only made sense they dressed as they had. Finn, at least, was wearing a bit more finery; he’d put on his best outfit, required of him when going on errands with the Duke or Prince. It wasn’t on the same level as the suit he’d been loaned to wear to the Wexley wedding, but it still impressed — deep blue trousers with a white tunic and brown vest gave him an air of status and importance.

Of course, it wasn’t the first time they’d all met; working for royal families meant they’d become acquaintances long ago, and forged friendships along the way. 

“Nope,” Rose says somberly, shaking her head. “But between you and me, I’ve heard a lot of talk about marriage around here lately.”

“Well yeah,” Finn replies, shrugging that off. “Between the wedding a few days ago, and Solo’s divorce… it’d be weird if people weren’t talking about marriage.”

“I just mean —”

Paige leans forward to look across Rose’s lap at Finn, who sits on the opposite end of the bench from her. “We think Leia is arranging a marriage. If we had to guess.”

Finn is quiet, contemplating this news. It wouldn’t be the most unheard of thing to happen; and after Ben’s divorce and his blunder at the Wexley wedding… it made perfect sense that Leia would want to repair their image.

“Either that, or it’s got something to do with the destruction of Jakku, but I don’t think there’s a lot they can do there,” Rose adds.

“It’s a wedding,” Paige retorts.

For a moment, Finn worries that the sisters are about to start bickering, but thankfully they do not. Instead, the conversation steers right into speculation, which Finn doesn’t want to partake in, but finds himself roped in anyway. 

“There aren’t many options for people Leia would actually have the power to marry off, for starters,” Rose says, almost as though it were an argument against Leia arranging a marriage. “She really just has Ben and Poe. And Tallie, I guess.”

“Yeah, but Tallie and Ben divorced. Isn’t that a bad thing? Like, people won’t want to be arranged to marry either of them because of that,” Finn interjects.

Paige smiles and points to Finn. “Exactly! Which is why I’m saying, I’m pretty sure they’re going to arrange a marriage for Poe.”

“You think they’ll make him marry someone in the First Order?” Finn asks, sounding absolutely appalled.

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Rose shrugs.

“Part of me thinks so, yeah,” Paige explains. She’s clearly thought long and hard about this, and has strong opinions as to the fate of Poe Dameron. “But another part of me thinks that maybe he’ll be paired up with Tallie.”

Rose scoffs.

“I mean it! Think about it — her image was damaged when she divorced from Ben. How do you fix her image? Have her marry Poe! Then she’s still the happy wife that some of the elder voters want her to be, and the younger ones look to her as a source of inspiration. Like, an example of how to bounce back after something terrible happens.”

Paige looks pleased with herself for her theory, but now Finn is invested, and he’s shaking his head like he has his own theory.

“No?” Paige asks. “What’s your idea, then?”

“I don’t think it’d be that easy,” Finn says. “The divorce, it… I don’t know, it split voters. And I think maybe they’d split even more if Tallie remarried this soon after.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and lowers his voice as he says, “I think it’ll be someone in the First Order, as a bribe to keep the peace.”

“Leia wouldn’t do that,” Rose says instantly.

Finn just raises an eyebrow disbelievingly. She would absolutely do that, and all three of them know it. 

“Since he’ll be a duke, do you think it’d be to a future king or queen? Or would Leia choose someone of a similar status?” Paige wonders.

Shrugging, Finn explains, “I don’t know. I never really thought about that part. They don’t have many royals to begin with, just a lot of military leaders on occupied planets. Military leaders are not the same as having all these planets with royals and senate representatives the way we do.”

“God, could you imagine Poe with Phasma?” Rose asks. She looks more amused than she should, and they all know it. Conspiratorially, she adds, “She’s so tall! They’d look kind of funny next to each other.”

Finn laughs. “She’s strong. She’d destroy him.”

The three of them laugh together at the thought, but their laughter is cut short by the sound of one of the doors slamming open. Poe angrily storms out of the conference room, pushing past his father and completely ignoring the three seated on the bench as he disappears down the corridor and undoubtedly, outside. Kes Dameron stands in the doorway looking helpless.

“Yep, he’s got to marry a First Order crony,” Rose says under her breath.

Paige and Finn watch worriedly as Poe retreats.

Leia appears in the doorway next to Kes, and spots the service workers where they’re seated in the hallway. She seems almost relieved to see them, and begins barking out orders almost immediately. “Paige, Rose, please ready some ships to return Holdo and D’Acy to their planets. Finn, if you wouldn’t mind please, go track down Poe? Don’t let him leave the planet; we’re not done with our meeting.”

The three of them scatter. On her way to the hangar, Rose is in such a hurry she doesn’t see the figure standing in the entryway to the palace, bewildered. She barrels right into him, nearly toppling over upon impact. He catches her by the upper arms, though, steadying her, protecting her from falling.

Rose looks up; it’s Ben.

“Wha—?”

“Come with me,” Rose whispers, continuing her brisk walk to the hangar.

She knows that D’Acy and Holdo will take their time preparing to leave, but that doesn’t stop Rose’s hurry. She can tell that a lot is going on in the palace, and that Ben wants to know what it is, so the faster they get to the hangar, the more time she has to tell him.

His long legs make it easy for him to keep up with her, of course, and they only have to shout at Threepio once to get him to leave them alone. The sun is high in the sky by this point, a fact that Rose would usually be very happy about, but she remained in a hurry. She closed her eyes and smiled, though, reveling in the warmth of the sun as she power-walked to their destination.

“Can’t you start talking now?” Ben asks, knowing full well they’re out of earshot of his mother.

Rose doesn’t stop; she’s striding determinedly to the hangar and is going too fast to slow herself now.

Once inside, though, Ben’s warm hand finds her wrist and stops her almost immediately. “Rose,” he says urgently. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“We don’t actually know for sure,” Rose begins.

She doesn’t move her arm from his grip, and for a moment neither notices. Ben scrunches his face up in a slightly irritated expression. “What?”

“We were speculating!” Rose says defensively. She walks towards one of the shuttles, immediately checking its fuel reserves and other stats from a datapad sitting on its wing. It’s a standard metallic grey color, nothing fancy. It’s for D’Acy; she takes no pride in fancy things, not like some other high-level politicians Ben has met. “And then Poe got really mad.”

“Maybe because you were speculating about him rather than just talking to him?” Ben offers, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Rose rolls her eyes, unaffected by Ben’s demeanor. “He was in a meeting with your mom and some others,” she explains. “He didn’t bother looking at us when he stormed out. Something that happened in that meeting set him off.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Rose says, making Ben feel sufficiently dumb for jumping to conclusions.

She walks back towards him, to the nose of the ship, to inspect for any damage from possible debris in space. It’s futile, she knows; she flew the shuttle there and knows full well it’s safe. But performance is half of her job, and she’d rather be unnecessarily diligent than risk a royal being hurt.

Ben stands off to the side, hands in the pockets of his black trousers, watching her. Rose fleetingly notices that he’s shed his coat, wearing a plain black tunic with short sleeves, showing off his muscles. She very quickly looks away.

“So you were speculating what was happening in there?” Ben asks.

“Yeah, we were,” Rose replies. “We’re almost positive he’s going to have to do the arranged marriage thing. Your mother isn’t above returning to the old ways if it means keeping peace.”

Ben raises an eyebrow. “You mean marrying someone in the First Order?”

Rose nods. “We’re pretty sure it’ll be Phasma or Hux,” she elaborates. “Either way, we don’t envy him.”

Shaking his head, Ben walks around to the other side of the ship, where Rose has taken up residence along the hull. She’s reading several screens there; likely charting the ship’s course from the exterior control panel.

“I don’t think my mom would do that,” Ben says lamely.

Truth be told, he just likes to _think_ his mother wouldn’t do it; it’s entirely possible that she would. If it kept them from going to war with the First Order, she’d do a lot of things Ben wished she wouldn’t. 

Rose looks at Ben disbelievingly, and he knows she doesn’t believe him any more than he believes himself.

“All this talk of marriage is depressing,” Rose says after a beat. She takes a breath and closes and locks the hull’s panel.

She wipes her hands on her jumpsuit and walks towards Ben.

“Well, marriage _is_ depressing,” he responds.

He doesn’t understand it, but he somewhat enjoys that his statement has brought her to laughter. Rose has a pretty laugh. 

“It’s true,” she says finally, retreating to their usual place on the floor against the wall, near the east door of the hangar. “Marriage doesn’t even sound that great but it still sucks that I’ll never have it.”

Ben follows her, taking a seat next to her before she even offers it. “What do you mean?” he asks. “Anyone can get married.”

Rose’s smile falls from her face entirely, and she shakes her head. “Not me,” she says. “I owe a life debt to your mother. I’ll work for her until the day I die.”

“Not to throw a wrench in your plans, but she’s going to die before you,” he says, amused. “Besides, hasn’t she been encouraging you to apply to some Flight Academies? The ones on Yavin and Arkanis, especially?”

Though Ben can tell she’s desperately trying to stay serious, Rose laughs. She turns her head away to try to hide it, but he hears the laughter anyway, and it puts a small smile upon his face. 

“You can marry and study and then still serve the family,” Ben says. “In fact, when I take my mother’s place, I’ll insist. You deserve a social life and hobbies and a companion just like everyone else.”

Rose’s eyes are filled with sadness when she smiles up at him. “Yes, but how would I meet people? I’m here all day, or I’d be studying all day. The only people I’ve met are the other service workers and they’re all really old… or they’re my sister,” she says.

Ben frowns; he hadn’t considered just how secluded a life of service was for someone like Rose. “You’ve met Finn, though,” he offers lamely.

She laughs, shaking her head. He notices the way her curls bounce, framing her face, and he becomes so distracted he hardly hears her say, “He and I are… I don’t know. Friends? I feel like kissing him would be weird, and that’s a sign that we can’t cross from friendship to romance.”

Rose snorts. “Besides. Kissing is just one more way for me to make a fool of myself.”

Ben studies her closely, his head tipped to the side as he watches her inquisitively. “You’ve kissed someone before, right?”

“Nope,” Rose says easily.

She shakes her head and looks up at Ben. It was the simplest answer for her to give. Ben frowns, the crease in his brow deepening as he does. “And you’re twenty…?”

He trails off, hoping she’ll finish his sentence.

“I’m twenty-five and never been kissed, yes. That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” she says bluntly.

His frown doesn’t fade; he can’t imagine a life like that. His first kiss had been at boarding school, at the young age of fourteen. Korr Sella had been a different girl back then, before she was Chancellor of Hosnian Prime. She was awkward and lanky, still growing into her limbs, just like Ben. They’d been the tallest ones in the class, easily paired off.

“I know you have,” Rose continues. “Even before you married Tallie, I knew you had. Even if you never said so. You’re just —”

“I’m just what?”

He interrupts her, but doesn’t back off. He’s still sitting next to her, leaning against the wall of the hangar, their elbows bumping as he tilts towards Rose. Her legs splay out along the cool concrete floor of the hangar, where his stay folded beneath him. They look comically different in size.

Ben looks directly into her eyes, and he watches as Rose’s breath catches. They’re closer than she’d been expecting when she looked up to meet his gaze. The hangar feels ten degrees hotter, at least. Sure, they’ve sat close together before, chatting in this very same place, but something has shifted.

It’s reckless, Ben knows. It’s not fair to Rose. But he’s still stinging from the divorce, and Rose is right there, and she’s quite pretty. She deserves a kiss just as anyone else — _more_ , even, if he has a say in the matter. 

The moment feels like a long time coming, the two of them leaning closer, noses brushing, the warmth of her breath upon his lips. Ben glances down, practically going cross-eyed, when he notices movement, the way her tongue darts out to wet her lips. 

He finds that nothing sounds as wonderful in that moment as closing the distance and pressing his lips to hers. Rose beats him to it, her curiosity apparently too much for her by that point. She’s warm and gentle, and Ben adjusts his lips against hers, getting used to the feeling of Rose, how she tastes just a little bit of berries, of something sweet. Her petite hand drops to his thigh, and for a moment, Ben contemplates deepening the kiss, teaching her more, drawing out the moment for as long as possible.

A split-second later, the whir of the hangar’s side door snaps them from their private moment, the loud conversation of Paige, D’Acy, and Holdo the only motivation Ben and Rose need to stand up and put a sizeable distance between them.

Rose’s cheeks are flushed crimson and she’s avoiding his eyes. “I’m sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “That was irresponsible of me. I shouldn’t have —”

“We didn’t —”

“I just mean —”

“Rose! Ben! There you two are!” 

Paige interrupts the awkward not-conversation Ben and Rose had been stumbling their way through, pushing it all aside to bring Rose back to her duty at hand, and to remind Ben that this wasn’t his place. He was welcome to visit, but they had tasks to do, and the last thing he wanted was to get in the way and cause his mother to have a conniption over any delays.

“I should be going,” Ben says awkwardly, before spinning on his heel.

He leaves before he ever gives a proper hello or goodbye to D’Acy or Holdo, but after years of similar behavior from him, they don’t dwell up on it. They’re animatedly discussing something or other, and Ben can’t be bothered to stay to find out what it is they are discussing. By the time Rose turns to say goodbye to him, Ben is already gone.

In his hurry to return to the palace and his quarters, Ben doesn’t notice the men sitting in the garden to his left — the way Poe, shoulders tense, paces before his father and Finn, who sit on a bench watching.

Poe is ranting and raving to his father, his frustration mounting with each subsequent word that falls from his lips.

“I can’t believe you’re actually letting them get away with this,” Poe shouts. “Dad, you _know_ I don’t ask for much. I don’t _want_ much. But to actually have a decent relationship would be nice. Y’know, since it’s the rest of my kriffing life.”

“Language,” Kes warns tersely. “You know there are a lot of factors at work in this decision.”

“The timing is terrible. Should have done this a year ago, made Solo do it.”

Kes has no patience for his son’s ranting and raving, if his tone is any indication. “Enough. He is your _friend_ ,” Kes barks.

Poe stops and faces his father, one hand on his hip. He shakes his head, his whole face red with anger. He looks an entirely different man like this, the opposite of what Finn is used to seeing day in and day out.

“I don’t want to marry you off into the First Order any more than you want it,” says Poe’s father, rather bluntly. “But the fact of the matter is, the risk is too high. They could start picking off Resistance planets any day now. Marrying Armitage Hux could save the entire Resistance.”

Shaking his head, Poe says, “I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

“It’s already agreed,” Kes sighs. “You’re marrying him. For the safety of the Resistance. Think of all the planets you’re saving. All the _lives_ that won’t be lost. You’d be the biggest hero on our side.”

“You’ll still have me,” Finn says, chiming in even though he doesn’t know for sure whether that’s even true. He assumes so; other royals have taken their attendants with them to new palaces. There’s no reason the same wouldn’t be true for them. “Even if it sucks, you can hang out with me.”

Kes stands and approaches his son; he uses his height to his advantage, looking down his nose as he crosses his arms. “You are going to be a Duke one day, Poe,” he says. “A King, if you don’t find a way to ruin this wedding. Sometimes you have to put the wellbeing and safety of your people before your own personal feelings. It won’t feel good at first, but you’re going to get used to it. And then, it’ll be okay.”

Poe stops pacing back and forth and really fixates his glare upon his father. “I don’t _want_ to. I don’t ask for a lot. Is it really so much to ask, getting to marry someone for love?” Poe asks.

“Yes,” says Kes firmly. “In your position, it is.”

Affronted, Poe’s hands drop to his side, and his glare fades to disappointment; in all his years, Poe’s father had never been quite so strict or harsh. He’d always found a way to make his son happy, to find a compromise. But this — it was clearly asking too much, requesting that his father renege the offer of an arranged marriage, to let his son find love. 

“If you want love, you will have to agree with your husband to subtly see other people. _Subtly_ ,” Kes raises his finger and repeats the word, for emphasis. “I will not have you bringing scandal to this house in your no-doubt foolish attempts to rebel. I won’t be around long, with the way this galaxy is going.” As an afterthought, Kes adds, “At least you won’t be expected to have children quite so early. You should count that as a blessing. No doubt you’d be a good father, but with someone you disagree with… this works to your advantage, I suppose.”

“I am _not_ having children with him.”

Disappointed, Kes says, “You need to think of your people, Poe. Not of yourself. Why is that so difficult for you to understand?”

Poe shakes his head. He glances at Finn, who looks helplessly between father and son. If he has opinions on the matter, he certainly won’t voice them in front of the elder Dameron, for fear of losing his job or worse. They must wait until the conversation ends before they truly discuss the situation.

“Now, we are to go back inside and finish our meeting with the Queen,” Kes says, more like he’s talking to a child than a fully-grown thirty year old man. “You never should have stormed out to begin with. It’s disrespectful. Come on.”

Poe resists for just a moment, as his father begins the trek back into the palace. When he realizes his son isn’t behind him, he stops and looks over his shoulder. He glares, putting every ounce of disappointment and frustration into the expression, and it’s enough that Poe recognizes he must follow.

Whether he wants to or not, this is his fate. Finn follows both men up to the palace, but says nothing. He may not agree with the decisions being made by Duke Dameron and Queen Organa, but he is in no position to say a word — even if he desperately wishes he could help Poe.

——

Tallie Lintra stands in a long lavender gown in the spacious Coruscant apartment loaned to her by the Royal FAmily of Alderaan. 500 Republica, home to only the most wealthy and important of statespeople in Galactic City, affords views of the entire city outside — streams of traffic, ships going this way and that to various destinations. She can see the senate building in the distance, and the town square to her right.

Even at night, the whole city is lit up with lights on speeders, in clubs, along the streets below for anyone who chooses to still walk from place to place. 

The view is amazing, but in the back of her mind, every time she gazes out these windows she hears Ben Solo’s voice, barely above a whisper. “It’s more beautiful in the countryside.”

He’d always thought so, and they’d dreamed of moving to a more rural planet one day, or to the family’s ranch up in the mountains, when Tallie’s time was up as Junior Senator of Coruscant. But now the Chandrila elections were approaching and all in the Resistance believed that she’d be a good Governor, that she could lead them and keep the senate in the Light Side’s favor.

She gazes out the window wistfully, loose dark curls of hair flowing over her shoulders, hiding most of the beadwork along the neckline of the dress from plain view. Even with the best of everything, she still feels the sting of saying goodbye to Ben Solo, of the relationship they’d tried to forge in order to please their parents and people and its monumental failure.

Tallie jumps when she hears someone enter the room; though she supposes it’s her handmaiden Jessika, she’s always on her guard. It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s state rooms in 500 Republica were invaded against the resident’s will. She’d heard tales of it happening decades upon decades ago, to Senator Amidala, to Governor Holdo. Taking up residence on Coruscant, even temporarily, was a dangerous thing to do if one was important enough in the galaxy.

“I brought the tea you asked for,” says Jessika, setting down a tray near the windows where Tallie stood.

The floor to ceiling windows afforded a beautiful view, and Tallie often took advantage. She’d seen to it that a chaise and a small table with chairs for dining were both moved closer to the window. But since the divorce, her appetite had been lacking. Since the divorce, she’d been feeling a lot of things she hadn’t anticipated.

“Thank you,” Tallie responds.

She walks slowly to the chaise, her lavender sleeping gown flowing around her, making her look graceful even when she felt terrible. If there was one thing Tallie appreciated about the beauty of the clothing she wore as a result of becoming Junior Senator, it was that her clothing boosted her up when she felt terrible.

Jessika stands nearby, watching as Tallie takes a seat on the chaise and takes a deep breath. Her eyes fall closed, and her hand drops to her stomach. Jessika hesitates for just a moment before asking, “When are you going to tell Ben?”

The question pulls Tallie from her thoughts, and she blinks her warm brown eyes open to look at her handmaiden. Though her stomach is flat now, it’s only a matter of time until that changes. She rubs her hand up and down over the fabric a few times, contemplating the question. It’s a delicate subject, to say the least.

“I don’t know how to tell him,” she confesses. “It won’t be easy for him.”

“Oh?”

“He always worried he wouldn’t be a good father,” Tallie says. Though she isn’t one to gossip, she trusts Jessika with this information, and is grateful to have someone in which she can confide. “We were hesitant to try for children at all, but before we’d considered divorce…”

“You tried.”

Tallie frowns. “Part of me thought it would keep us together.” She scoffs and shakes her head. “How naive of me.”

Jessika crosses the room and takes the teacup from the tray. She offers it to Tallie, who remains reclined on her plush black velvet chaise. “I don’t think it’s naive of you,” Jessika offers. “When you don’t expect to divorce, it seems the next logical choice.”

A pause fills the room as Tallie takes a sip of her tea. It soothes her, calms her stomach to keep her from becoming ill. “We didn’t expect the judge to grant us permission to divorce,” Tallie says. “We tried it expecting it to fail. That’s why it was all so unexpected. Not even _we_ thought it was possible.”

“Forgive me if this crosses a line but… does that mean the two of you were intimate the whole time?” Jessika asks timidly.

Tallie nods. “Until the end. We kept trying to make it work, and thought perhaps that would help. But…” she trails off and shakes her head. “It felt like a tryst after an evening in a cantina. Always. He was gentle and kind, but there was no spark, no intimacy. And yet…”

She looks at her belly and pats it with her hand once, then twice.

“A baby,” Jessika supplies.

Tallie nods and looks down, studying her hand as it smooths over her stomach once more.

“Yes,” she says, a resigned sort of formality in her voice. “A baby.”


	9. Act I, Chapter IX: New Life, New Disappointment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Supreme Leader Snoke calls several First Order representatives to his ship. Plans are well underway in taking down Skywalker, and they must now double down their efforts to teach Rey all she has to know to win the Chandrilan election and give the First Order majority power in the senate. Afterwards, Ben Solo is faced with much ire when Tallie's news breaks.

Making trips to _The Supremacy_ on a weekly basis is not how Hux had imagined spending his free time, especially now that it was all about to disappear, replaced with a marriage he didn’t want and a husband who would no doubt irritate him to no end.

Rey was with him, and Phasma followed through the hallways with Mitaka. Shockingly, all four were brought into Snoke’s throne room. Rey stood in the back, off to the side next to Mitaka. They both wore regulation black, a small First Order symbol embroidered into the upper arms of their jackets. Phasma wore all-white, as though this were some sort of holiday, and Hux as usual wore greys and blacks.

Snoke, clad in his golden robe, watched all four with great amusement. Silence filled the chamber as Snoke paused for dramatic effect, Hux and Phasma standing in front of their attendants. 

“Today we have much cause to celebrate.”

All are silent, waiting for more information, for Snoke to divulge all the news he has in store for them.

“Not only have we secured a marriage between our very own Prince Hux and the future Duke of Yavin, Poe Dameron, but I can proudly say that Kylo Ren has made developments in our search for Skywalker,” Snoke announces. 

He looks so smug, so pleased for all the progress they have made in the name of the First Order. “With his developments and the impending training of young Rey, the future of the First Order looks very bright. We _will_ reign supreme. Our years of biding our time and working slowly towards our goals will certainly be worth it.”

Hux and Phasma share smug looks of pride before turning back to face Snoke. He seemed to be waiting for his words to really sink in and settled upon the four stood before him before he gave more instructions.

“Prince Hux,” Snoke instructed. “Between your visits to Duke Poe to solidify your union, you are to work with your mother to train the girl in etiquette and politics. She is to be primed and ready to present to the public before the first debate. It is absolutely essential that she be in peak condition to debate against Lintra. We _must_ swing this election in our favor.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader,” Hux responds, nodding dutifully.

“It is essential to the future prosperity of the First Order,” Snoke continues. “I will not accept failure. From you, or from Rey. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Supreme Leader,” Hux says again, bowing his head.

Snoke’s snarled gaze turns from Hux to where Rey and Mitaka stand behind their masters. Mitaka’s eyes go wide, but Rey’s expression doesn’t change at all. “And you, girl?” Snoke presses.

“As you wish,” Rey responds.

Her position is still too precarious for her to rebel, this she knows. Though she is only in a service position, she understands that if she remains obedient, she will be able to rise through the ranks and not only learn to be a master of politics, but she can learn to master the Force, to rise up from the lowly life of a scavenger into something great. Someone with purpose. Someone who won’t be looked down upon as a _nobody_.

“Good,” Snoke says, grinning his awful, mangled smile.

“Sir,” Phasma interrupts, her tone curt, yet respectful. “You have no doubt heard the rumors of a faulty nuclear waste system on Parnassos?”

Snoke’s smile falls; it puts the rest in the room at ease. His smile never means anything good. “I have,” he responds.

“We need to keep this out of the presses while I return planetside to address the situation,” Phasma says. 

There’s a sense of urgency in her voice that Hux doesn’t hear often. He feels uneasy on behalf of his friend; a faulty nuclear system could mean utter disaster for the planet. Losing a planet when their grip on the galaxy is already so precarious would be a terrible thing. 

Snoke nods, adjusting in his seat. He’s leaning against the opposite armrest now, still large and imposing in front of the crimson red backdrop of his throne room. “I agree,” he nods to Phasma. “I already have a plan in motion. Tomorrow, news of the Hux-Dameron proposal will go public. Everyone in the galaxy will be focused on the next royal wedding. Nobody will pay any mind to your planet.”

Phasma nods. “Thank you, sir.”

“But, if they do…” Snoke continues. “I have seen to it that several planets on the opposite side of Parnassos from the Resistance’s production base on D’Qar require supplies. Planets the Resistance has no idea are allied with us. Should a nuclear disaster strike, their ships can be blamed. The route they will need to take crosses dangerously close to your planet’s atmosphere.”

Phasma’s eyes go wide. “Sir —”

“We will, of course, hope that nothing bad befalls your home planet, Captain Phasma,” Snoke insists. 

Something about the way he says it leaves a bad taste in Hux’s mouth, though Hux says nothing of such a feeling. It is not his place, not in this capacity.

“But if it does, we have a plan. Everything will work out just as I have decided,” Snoke sneers. 

“And if they argue to the contrary?” Phasma asks.

By now, Snoke is used to her myriad of questions and her ability to think of every scenario. He long since gave up on seeing such a behavior as impudence. Now, Snoke acknowledges that Phasma’s calculating brain is quite useful when plotting against the Resistance. More than once, she has been commended for finding flaws in otherwise seemingly fool-proof plans. She has protected the First Order and its interests more than once.

“That is why we must connect Hux with his darling betrothed as soon as possible,” Snoke says with a strong hint of amusement. He looks to Hux, who is trying his very best to keep his expression neutral. “The sooner Hux convinces Dameron that he is genuinely interested in their alliance and their relationship, the sooner he can begin to plant seeds in their minds. With Hux on the inside, we will be able to have much more influence over the Resistance.”

“Do you think that will work?” Hux asks, and then hastily adds, “Supreme Leader?”

Snoke lets out a growl as he leans forward, both mangled hands gripping the arms of the throne. “Are you challenging me, Young Hux?”

He uses the nickname like he knows it bothers Hux; in a moment of weakness, that had been given away to the Supreme Leader and now Hux loathes the power the name can hold over him. “Not at all, Supreme Leader,” Hux responds. He wishes he had the same clout to ask questions as Phasma seems to have. “I simply wonder whether Dameron will fall for such a ruse.”

“If you can act as well as your mother says you can, it shouldn’t be difficult for you at all,” Snoke says, leaning back, though his eyes stay narrowed upon Hux. “Besides, once Organa and Holdo die off, the Resistance’s leadership will be sorely lacking. All their young leaders are weak and foolish, fueled by their emotions. Dameron’s resistance to this marriage is proof of that.”

“I will do my best,” Hux says, sufficiently put in his place.

He bows his head once more, taking a deep breath to steady his heart. The exhilaration of speaking up to the Supreme Leader is still new to Hux; he’s not often given audience with Snoke without his parents around. 

“Yes, you will,” Snoke agrees. “Phasma, please take Mitaka and return to Parnassos. Protect your planet at all costs.” He then turns to Hux. “And _you_. Young Hux.” Hux clenches his teeth, but says nothing. “Give the girl her first lesson and inform your mother of your new duty. Then, I will see to it that you and Dameron are given plenty of time in which to forge a relationship.” 

Hux’s stomach twists uncomfortably as he considers the fact that in a way, Snoke is playing matchmaker. It makes his blood boil; a vile creature like Snoke should never be given power over matters of the heart. “Yes, Supreme Leader,” Hux says, bending at the waist to give one more curt bow.

“Excellent.”

Snokes voice is little more than a menacing growl. He leans back, his body language clear in conveying that the conversation is over. All four guests leave the throne room at a brisk pace, pausing only once they arrive at the hangar. Ships are being prepared for them immediately.

“Well… I would wish you luck, but apparently your mother has the utmost faith in your acting abilities,” Phasma says to Hux, a look of amusement on her face.

Her smirk irritates Hux to no end, and he narrows his eyes in a glare before he says, “Best see to it that your planet stays in one piece.”

“That’d be intimidating if it wasn’t so pointless,” Phasma replies. “Con Star Mining will do anything I tell them to in order to stay out of the media. We’ll tamp down this impending disaster before so much as a spark flies.”

Her smirk grows, and her confidence is something Hux is still in awe of, to this day. He, too, is quite sure of himself, but not a soul he’s ever met comes quite to the level of Phasma. Even in the most desperate of situations, she seems calm, cool, and collected. She never panics, and she certainly never allows any sort of distress show upon her features. Phasma is the epitome of strength, always standing tall and equipped with answers to every problem.

“Good,” Hux responds. “And before you know it, darling Dameron will be eating out of the palm of my hand.”

Phasma snorts. “I cannot _wait_ to see that,” she says. “You? A bloody romantic?”

“I’m not exactly looking forward to it,” Hux confesses. “But prepare to see the performance of a lifetime. I’ll have him in love with me in no time at all.”

Phasma glances over at Hux out of the corner of her eye. “He strikes me as very… physically affectionate,” she observes. “The opposite of you, if I must confess.”

“It’s true. Physical affection is not my favorite,” Hux responds. “But if I must put up with it to further our cause, that is a price I’m willing to pay.”

“And the sex?”

Hux scoffs. “What about it?”

As an officer begins approaching, likely to inform them that their ships are ready, Phasma turns to Hux and says, “You really think you can stomach it?”

“Please,” Hux rolls his eyes. “The sex is the only good thing I’ll be getting out of this arrangement. Of course I’ll be able to stomach it.”

“But with _him_?”

Now it’s Hux’s turn to look amused, a smirk beginning to form. “Yes. Admittedly, he _is_ handsome. It’s his personality that I find repulsive.”

“Ah,” Phasma says, laughing. “Just keep his pretty mouth quiet, that’s your plan?”

“It’s as good as any other plan,” Hux responds. “Now go. Save your planet. Be a bloody hero and make the rest of us look bad.”

Sure enough, Mitaka has just finished conversing with the officer, and informs Phasma that their ship is ready. “I’ll see you soon,” Phasma says to Hux.

He gives a curt nod in reply, and then follows the officer to the ship, barely remembering to glance over his shoulder to be sure Rey is with him. Sure enough, she’s right on his heels, and nearly bumps into him as he slows to check for her. She opens her mouth as though to speak, but Hux turns his head before she can, and is content to go the full journey back to Arkanis without conversation. Hopefully, she will take the hint and allow him that small courtesy.

She does, for which Hux is eternally grateful. He much prefers being left to his thoughts in the solitude of his seat opposite her. Rey, it seems, has an affinity for gazing out the windows as the stars pass them by in lightspeed. It’s mesmerizing the first few times, admittedly, but Hux outgrew that decades earlier. He doesn’t mock; such an interest in flight prevents Rey from speaking to him, and that’s really what he cares most about.

When they land in the hangar at Arkanis at 0200, it’s dark and rainy, a miserable pouring rain that Hux detests, purely because they need to get to the Estate through the mess. the rest of the staff are fast asleep, leaving Rey to see to Hux’s needs on her own upon arrival. 

Rey, though equipped with a rain shield, holds it only over Hux’s head. They’ve barely stepped into the rain before Hux abruptly grabs her arm and tugs her towards him.

“Oh!”

“I won’t have you getting drenched in this rain. You’ll never shake the chill,” he says hoarsely.

Rey looks up at Hux, eyes wide. She’s in his space, arm to arm, nearly tripping as she tries to stay close to him. He keeps his gaze trained forward, determined to get indoors as soon as possible. “I’ve never been in the rain before, though…”

“Save it for a warmer day,” Hux instructs.

She scowls, becoming petulant. “Are you always going to talk to me like I’m a child?” she snaps. “This training you’re supposed to do with me will be _awful_ if you are.”

“I’ll treat you like a child if you continue to act like one,” he says curtly. “How old are you, anyway?”

Rey goes very quiet. She trains her gaze forward just as Hux has been doing, and bites her tongue. At first, Hux thinks nothing of her silence. He’s managed to put her in her place, reducing her to nothing but the person who carries his rain shield. But then he recalls her past and perhaps it’s because he’s dead tired, having stayed up almost a full day cycle, and realizes something.

“You don’t know, do you?”

Rey purses her lips and tries not to shirk beneath the glance Hux sends her way. He doesn’t press the issue, but his gaze lingers just long enough for her to feel like she needs to respond.

“I think it’s somewhere around twenty-two,” Rey says softly. “But I can’t be sure.”

As much as he’d like to have a stubborn sort of superiority over her, Hux knows he has to maintain at least a neutral rapport with her if he’s going to have any success training her to be politician. There is much work to be done. “My apologies,” he says. “It wasn’t my place.”

Rey shakes her head. Hux notices now that she’s done her hair differently, leaving most of it to drape over her shoulders, only half of it back in a ponytail. It suits her. She looks older. It’s still not fancy enough for a government seat candidate, but they have time to develop that.

“It’s fine,” Rey responds. “It’s just the start of all the questions I won’t know how to answer when I’m in the public eye, right?”

Hux is quiet. She makes a good point. But there’s no point in worrying over it; there’s plenty of time to come up with manufactured answers to basically everything. “We’ll worry about that at a later date.”

They make it to the back entry of the Estate and Rey collapses the rain shield. Though Rey feels like there’s more they should talk about, she’s promptly shut down by Hux giving her instructions.

“I’ll take my breakfast in my room in the morning. 0900. Goodnight.”

——

Just as he instructed, Rey brings Hux his breakfast at 0900. It means she had to get up before then, giving her very few hours of sleep, but she reminds herself that soon he’ll be leaving planet to spend time with Poe Dameron, and she’ll have more opportunity to sleep once he’s gone.

After delivering the tray of food, Rey fetches his datapad so he can read the news, as he does each morning. “Ugh,” Hux grumbles.

Rey watches as he halfheartedly powers on the device. “All it’s going to be is news of the engagement. I have no interest in reading the banal stories about that,” he sighs. “They don’t even have a photo of us for the story.”

“Maybe they took one at the wedding?” Rey offers.

Hux sends an exasperated glance her way. Rey purses her lips and tries very hard not to snap at him. She’s tired and irritated and has no patience for his attitude. He turns back to his datapad, cup of caf in his spare hand. “Do you want me to —”

“ _Kriff._ ”

Rey pauses on her way to the door. It’s very unusual to hear Hux cursing; in her limited experience, he prefers using large words to hold his superior education over people, than to let slip curse words that any layman can use. She raises an eyebrow and asks, “What is it?”

“Ben Kriffing Solo has done it again.”

Confused, Rey approaches Hux and helps herself to the chair next to his. It’s encouraging to her, that Hux isn’t telling her to go away or that she’s acted inappropriately. Whatever it is that he’s reading has him riveted, more so than she’s seen from him since she’s started working for him. Usually he scoffs at the news and goes on with his day. But this — he appears to be reading the news word for word.

“Lintra’s pregnant,” Hux explains. “Solo knocked her up and then divorced her.” 

He laughs as he sets down his datapad. When he looks up, Rey looks conflicted; it’s almost as though she has empathy for Lintra and Solo. “Look, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but don’t,” Hux instructs. “You have to put whatever odd Force thing happened between you and Solo at the wedding behind you.”

“I —”

“Lesson number one,” Hux interrupts. “Do not be like them. Then, you’ll be a great leader.”

“Don’t have a child?” Rey asks.

Hux rolls his eyes, exasperated. He turns to his food and takes a bite of fruit before answering, taking a moment to swallow back an insult. “You can have a child if you _want_ , though I can’t fathom why you’d want to do such a thing,” Hux answers finally. “But when you do, ensure it won’t incite a public scandal.”

Rey sighs and nods. “Right.”

“As a public leader,” Hux continues, “your every move will be under scrutiny. You need to think about everything you do before you do it. _Everything_.”

“Noted,” Rey responds.

Hux glances up at her. “I can’t promise you’re going to enjoy the training,” he says, apropos of nothing. “It will include an update to your wardrobe and appearance, as well. But you’ll need to learn etiquette, politics…” 

“Will I learn how to read?”

Her question brings the conversation to a stilted halt. “Excuse me?”

Rey shrugs. “Politicians and leaders are educated, right?” she says it like it’s no big deal, like she’s not pointing out an essential flaw in her credentials. “I was never taught to read. They didn’t care about that on Jakku. Or an education.”

Hux is silent, studying her for a moment. “We have more work to do than I’d expected.”

She looks guilty, and Hux can read it on her face almost immediately. “Lesson number two: learn to control your expressions,” he instructs. “You’ll never get anywhere in life if you let people read every bit of disappointment or guilt on your face. Opponents will see that as a weakness and cling to every little expression you make in order to tear you down.”

Rey swallows hard and nods again. Though she’s up for the challenge of learning everything she’s expected to learn, she hadn’t anticipated just how much those lessons would stem from all of her weaknesses. Rey was well aware of all the luxuries she hadn’t had while growing up, but she’d thought that if ever given the opportunity to learn, to catch up, she’d have more time in which to do it.

“If I’m ever unable to train you, my mother will see to it. Some lessons, she will give you — some etiquette varies based upon gender. And I’ll also put her in charge of your appearance,” Hux rattles off tasks, overwhelming Rey with each new word. “We will have you prepared for the first debate, which takes place several months from now. Do you have any questions?”

She shakes her head.

“Good,” Hux responds. “I suppose the benefit of all of this is Lintra will be off her game while you’re competing against her. We just have to hope she has a difficult pregnancy.”

“That’s awful.”

“That’s politics.”

Rey glares heavily at Hux, offended by his attitude towards this Lintra girl she keeps hearing about, but it doesn’t change anything. Rey sighs and stands. “Do you need anything else?”

“No,” Hux responds; he’s too smug and pleased by Solo’s mistake with Lintra to care that Rey is so quickly dismissing her first lesson, as impromptu as it may have been. “Return for the tray in an hour.”

Rey leaves the room briskly, nearly tripping over her own two feet as she walks down the long corridor of the Hux home. The ceiling is so high she feels like a bug, scrawling along where she doesn’t belong. But for as much as she may hate how ruthless politics are, and for how much she dreads having to attend lessons with the Hux family to be a viable candidate, Rey is willing to do whatever it takes to gain her freedom and a better station in life. Now that Jakku is destroyed, there is no other option.

——

Snoke sits tall in his throne room, waiting with his arms braced on the edges of his throne, surrounded by his Praetorian Guards as he waits for his apprentice. It has been a while since they’ve spoken, and there is much to be discussed. The time ticks on, and Snoke grows weary with his apprentice for keeping him waiting.

When the doors finally whir open to reveal Kylo Ren, tall and imposing even against the deep black walls of the ship. His cloak flies out behind him as he steps slowly towards his master, head bowed obediently. Halfway between the door and Snoke, Kylo kneels down, resting an arm on his bent knee and bowing his head. 

“Kylo Ren.”

Ren doesn’t speak, just waits for his master to continue.

“Take that ridiculous thing off.”

It’s not a command he’s ever been given before, and Ren hesitates. He looks up at Snoke, but there’s no movement, no withdrawal of his statement. He’s supposed to take off his mask. Ren hasn’t taken his mask off in front of his master for years — wearing the mask helped Ren stay focused on the dark side, on his tasks and missions, whatever Snoke asked of him.

Slowly, his hands rise to the sides of his face, the sound of his gloves stretching to press the release button echoing in his ears. Ren takes his time, hesitating as much as possible before pulling the helmet from his head. He shakes his loose, dark curls free from the confines of his helmet and ducks his head, avoiding Snoke’s gaze.

“Ben Solo.”

Ben looks up sharply. “My name is Kylo Ren.”

“You are a _disgrace_!”

Snoke’s voice grows suddenly loud and booming, echoing around the chamber, startling Ben. He gazes down at his boot and says nothing; words fail him, and talking back to Snoke can only end badly.

“I asked you to sabotage Lintra, not extend your bloodline. The Royal Family of Alderaan was going to end with you. We were going to take down the Resistance. And now… now you’ve given then blood. New life. Potentially a new _Jedi_ ,” Snoke rambles, his voice growing more intense, much angrier, with each passing word. “You are a disgrace to the First Order. You have set us back by _years_!”

“I’m sorry, Supreme Leader.”

Snoke stands from his throne, stepping slowly forward. His limp no longer conveys weakness to Ben, not when he knows the power the man holds, how physical wellness means nothing when he has the Force to wield against his enemies — or against his apprentice, when he is disappointed. 

“We must hope that this baby disrupts her campaign, but after the birth of the child… do you understand what you have done? You have ruined _everything_.”

“I had to prevent suspicion… my parents, they —”

“Your parents should be _dead_ ,” Snoke snarls, stepping closer still to Ben, towering above him. 

He looks down the mangled remnants of his nose to the sniveling, emotional mess kneeling before him. 

“You have too much of your father’s heart in you,” Snoke says. “You were supposed to be the downfall of the Resistance, but now I fear I have chosen wrongly. You will instead be the downfall of the First Order…”

“Supreme Leader, I can still kill Skywalker. I can —”

“Silence!”

Ben ducks his head further still, bowing almost painfully low to try to repent for the anger which he has caused his master. The disappointment he can handle, but the anger — it doesn’t fuel Ben’s dark emotions as Snoke once promised him it would. It reminds him that he should be angry, that he should be cruel, but he’s _not_. 

His parents had nothing to do with that, of course, but Rose, Tallie, Poe… they softened him. They took the angriest parts of Ben and replaced them with emotions that Snoke can’t turn into weapons. The emotions Snoke doesn’t know Ben holds deep within him, still tethering him to the light that he struggles daily to shake. 

And the more time he spends with the Resistance, the harder it is to tap into that anger each and every time.

“You disgust me,” Snoke says finally. 

Though he lifts his hand, threatening to strike Ben down with lightning, to punish him with the cruelest twists of the Force, he does nothing. He lets Ben simmer in the disappointment , in all the trouble he has caused for his master, and the uncertainty of what comes next. Snoke is a dangerous man, and he will not hesitate to resort to the cruelest punishments imaginable if he sees fit. Ben has seen Snoke kill men for lesser crimes than the one he’s committed.

“Leave here. You must destroy Skywalker. You must not let him live if we have any chance of destroying the Resistance,” Snoke says finally.

He waves his hand dismissively and returns to his throne. “You have fed their cause, given new life to the very people we are trying to destroy,” Snoke continues, berating Ben and all the actions he’s taken which have caused Snoke such frustration. “The very least you can do is wipe out the one who can teach the child.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader,” Ben says obediently, keeping his head bowed.

Ben won’t risk offending his master, not after all the anger that has already been sent his way. It’s a miracle he wasn’t punished worse, had lightning sent his way, or restraints on his lungs or throat. Ben has certainly suffered worse at Snoke’s hands, and considers it a miracle if he walks away from this encounter unscathed.

“Get out of my sight, and don’t return until Skywalker is dead.”

He doesn’t look up, doesn’t risk eye contact. Ben stands, head bowed and helmet in his hand, as he walks in long strides to the door at the back of the room. It opens for him, and he stalks through the corridor to the lift that will take him directly to the hangar. 

Once in the lift, Ben glares down at his mask. Playing both sides for years has taken its toll on him, pulled him from the Light to the Dark and back again. He slips his hand inside the mask, the one that his mother doesn’t know he wears when he plots against her. The one that Poe speculates on, speaks sarcastically about, doubts his strength and leadership… he has no idea he’s speaking about someone he knows so well.

The anger consumes Ben, the anger Snoke wanted him to feel earlier. It becomes more than he can bear and in a wave that feels like bursting, Ben lashes out, the fist inside his helmet colliding with the illuminated walls of the lift, cracking the walls, cracking the helmet. He growls as he surges forward with a second punch, reveling in the way the metal cracks beneath his hand, the way glass on the walls shatter into a million pieces. Twisted, gnarled metal falls with the glass to his feet, but he barely notices. He sees the mangled helmet in his hand, knows he must escape quickly, without officers seeing his face, if he wants to escape unnoticed.

Though he has to use Jedi mind tricks several times, Ben manages to escape unrecognized, taking off back towards Alderaan in a borrowed shuttle, something nondescript that won’t give away his identity to either the Resistance or the First Order.

It was a close call, but Ben made it. His double identity will remain a secret, at least for now.


	10. Act I, Chapter X: Escape to the Mountains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News of the Royal Baby has spread throughout the galaxy, putting everyone into yet another uproar. In order to keep Ben from more and more negative press, Han Solo pitches an idea to their family on how to best look out for Ben. Though their relationship is strained, Ben doesn't quite mind his father's meddling. Meanwhile, on Coruscant, Tallie and Jessika discuss the baby, Ben, and the future that lay ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you to everyone who has been reading so far -- I can't tell you how much that means to me. You may notice I have a final chapter count of 50. The fic will be in three "acts" that total 50 chapters (kind of like a trilogy in fanfic form!). It's a long haul, but I do hope you'll stick around for it. That chapter count could change a little, but not by much.

It’s like a ghost town around the Royal Palace of Alderaan for days after news after Tallie’s pregnancy breaks. Ben, quite wisely, avoids his parents and Han can’t really blame him for that. Leia is terrifying when she’s angry, and Ben is more sensitive to criticism and anger than Han ever was. He always gave his son a bit of a break when he got overwhelmed around his mother when she was upset.

But three full days come and go before Ben shows his face, and by that point, Han can’t really do anything to stop the wrath. He doesn’t particularly want to. For as disengaged as he’s always been in the politics of Alderaan, he understands how important it is to Leia, that Ben and Tallie not make waves. Between the divorce and the baby, there’s a lot of whispering around the galaxy that the Resistance isn’t nearly as strong as they used to be; people are beginning to doubt alliances with them, and that has to be nipped in the bud.

Leia sits at the head of the table as breakfast is served, Han to her right. Ben’s spot is to her left, but once he walks into the room, his hesitation is clear. Han empathizes with him, he does, but it’s time to face the music and own up to what he’s done. Had Ben and Tallie not been divorced, this baby news would have been a boon. 

“Ben.”

Leia gestures to his spot to her left and waits for him to have a seat. Admittedly, she doesn’t look quite as angry as he’d expected. Han knows why, but Ben doesn’t, and the absence of pure anger puts him even more on edge. 

Truth be told, Ben looks terrible, and that may have something to do with it. He has bags under his eyes, dark circles that look haunting, almost like bruises. His hair hasn’t been washed in days, and his skin lacks any sort of color. If Han didn’t know any better, he’d wonder if Ben was sick. But if he knows his son at all, he knows that Ben is probably beating himself up about the situation more than anyone else ever will.

“Have a seat, Ben,” Leia repeats.

Without thinking twice, Ben does just that. Almost immediately, there’s food and caf in front of him, but he doesn’t reach for it. He just sits, sure that shouting is soon to follow. 

“Ben…” 

“I know,” he grumbles. His voice is hoarse, and sounds as bad as he looks. 

“Well, I don’t,” Leia responds. “I just don’t know what to do with you. It’s just one thing after another.”

“I’m sorry,” he sighs.

Leia looks over at Han and sighs. “Han… do you…?”

Ben rolls his eyes. He hadn’t expected to be passed off to his father so quickly. Usually it took at least a few parries back and forth before she gave up on him. 

“Yeah, actually. I do have an idea of what to do with him.”

Leia and Ben both looked up sharply at Han at the same time, shocked by his answer. Leia looked at him, scrutinizing him as she asks, “You do?”

Ben, just as confused, asks, “Really?”

“Why do you look so shocked?” Han looks genuinely offended at their surprise.

“It’s just —”

“That was a rhetorical question,” he interrupts, wagging his finger haphazardly, before someone can say something damaging to his pride.

Han doesn’t say anything else though, letting them wait. If they’re going to doubt his ability to parent the way Leia does, he’s going to take his sweet time sharing his idea.

Finally, Han suggests, “I think maybe Ben needs some time outside of the palace.”

Leia, as always, is ready and waiting with a response. “He goes to Yavin IV all the time.”

Han shakes his head. “No, I mean one of our properties. He should go alone. Or take someone from the staff to help, I don’t care. We have that ranch up in the Juran Mountains,” Han continues. “It needs a good cleaning, and a little fixing up, but maybe having some time away from all the politics and from Tallie will do some good.”

He looks to Ben, frowning as he takes in the sight of his haggard, exhausted son. “I feel like you’d like it up there. We did, before everything got…”

“Dangerous? Precarious? On the verge of collapsing into war?” Leia supplied.

Han and Ben roll their eyes in perfect unison, looking incredibly alike. Leia notices, but keeps it to herself, knowing full well that both men would just grumble — also just like each other — and say she’s seeing things.

Ignoring Leia entirely, Han fixes a concerned gaze on his son and asks, “What d’you think, kid? Obviously we can’t make you go, but… maybe getting away from all of this will do you some good.”

Leia says nothing, opting to watch Ben closely just as her husband does. Ben’s gaze drops to his plate; he pokes at his breakfast with his fork as he considers it. Going away for some time does sound amazing, but he worries what they’ll all do and say about him while he’s away. He doesn’t exactly trust his mother, even though he knows he should. Snoke has planted doubt in his mind, doubt that he can’t shake no matter how hard he tries.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll go.”

Leia looks dumbfounded. “That’s it? You’ll go? No fight?”

Ben shakes his head. “No fight.” He shrugs. “I haven’t been to the ranch since before I trained with Luke. I want to go back.”

“Well, make sure you ask someone from the staff to go with you. Cleaning it up will be a two-person job,” Leia instructs. “I bet Paige would like to go.”

“Take Threepio,” Han interjects gruffly.

“Kriff no,” Ben replies. He shakes his head and says, “Maybe I’ll ask Rose. She’s never left the palace.”

Leia turns back to her breakfast, nodding. “Good idea. I think she’d like that.”

Appetite still gone, Ben looks up at his parents, “Can I go? We can leave today.”

“Sure,” Leia responds. She looks up at the doorway. “Threepio, have the cooks put together a box of food for them to take with them.”

“Oh yes of course, Princess — I mean Your Majesty — I, _oh_ , I’m sorry,” Threepio rambles. “Old habits, you know, and —”

“Just go, Threepio, you know I don’t mind,” Leia interrupts.

“Yes, of course, Your Maj —” his voice trails off as he leaves the room and begins his nervous gait down the hallway.

Han and Ben exchange a glance; she’s been a Queen for years, yet the droid still hasn’t adjusted to her new title. “Well, I’m going to pack, then. I’ll see you all… when I see you, I guess,” Ben says, standing from his seat.

He hasn’t taken a bite of his breakfast, nor does he want to. For as insulted as he might be by his parents sending him away, he’s actually relieved. His few memories of the ranch in the Juran Mountains are good ones; he likes nature, the moisture in the air and the smell of the trees growing outside. And being able to bring Rose with — she’s always been a good friend to him, and he’s pleasantly surprised by the fact that he won’t have to be alone in his exile.

“We’ll contact you via your comms when it’s a good time to come back,” Leia instructs. “Just until the baby and divorce drama die down.” She looks up at her son, where he stands next to the table. “We have some stuff we can submit to the news to try to draw attention away, but that’s going to take time. It’s a whole —”

“Strategy, I know,” Ben supplies. “I’ll stay out of the way.”

“Ben,” Leia sighs.

Han can see an argument on the horizon, so he cuts into the conversation. “Have a good time, kid. Don’t work too hard,” he says to Ben.

“We’ll miss you,” Leia adds. “When you get back, you can make amends with Tallie and we’ll get everything sorted out.”

Ben sighs and nods; they’ve drawn out this goodbye to the point that it’s painful, and he takes the awkward silence as his opportunity to leave once and for all.

Out in the hallway, Ben stops to lean against the wall. He tips his head back, closing his eyes as he lets his fate wash over him. Exiled by the Supreme Leader, and now exiled by his parents. 

It should hurt more than it does, but more than anything Ben just feels relief. He gets to spend time alone with his thoughts, nobody to bother him, no expectations… and best of all, cut off from all the royal drama and expectations.

Ben is pulled from his thoughts by footsteps; when he looks to his left, he sees his father stepping out in the hallway. Han appears relieved that Ben hasn’t left yet; he stuffs his hands in his pockets and walks a little closer, stepping tentatively.

“Hey,” Han says.

“Hi.”

“So, uh…”

They’ve never been good at having conversations, and he doesn’t know what to say. They ran out of things to talk about when Ben was nine. 

“Thank you.”

Han’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and then he lets out a cough, trying to keep the moment from getting too emotional. “Yeah. Thought you could use a break from your mom,” he shrugs.

Ben nods. “Yeah. It’ll be good, I think.”

“Good, good.”

The silence stretches between them, becoming more strained with each passing second. It’s strange; Ben finds himself wishing they still had things to talk about — he remembers adventures on the _Falcon_ , time spent with Han and Chewbacca, flying away from the palace like they weren’t royalty and their whole lives weren’t already spelled out for them. But now… now it’s weird. He’s not even entirely sure why. 

“Okay, I’m going to go pack,” Ben says finally.

“Yeah. Good idea. See you later, Ben.”

Han pats Ben on the shoulder, and without another word, the two of them walk separate ways down the hallway.

The palace is dead silent as Ben walks to his room, the only sound that of his heavy footsteps on the stone floors. When he was younger, he used to love the way sounds echoed down the halls. It made him feel like he was larger than life, such a small human filling up so much space. But now he was tall and large, and not even in an incredibly muscular way. He was just broad, and he was self-conscious of it. He hid beneath layers of black, beneath robes, toning his body but not showing it off.

Now he’s painfully aware of how tall he is when he looks the subjects of portraits in the eyes, rather than gazing up at them, a child with wide eyes full of wonder. Some, he even looks down upon. And of course, when he stands next to Rose, he feels like a giant. They’d once been almost the same height — Ben just an inch or so taller than her — but now they were over a head apart in height, and it was strange for him. It gave him a weird, protective complex.

And speaking of having a complex when it comes to Rose, Ben isn’t really sure what to say to her when he sees her standing outside his quarters, one small bag packed and resting by her side. Her arms are crossed, and she wears a quirky mix of curiosity and amusement on her face.

“Hi.”

Ben’s voice is low, echoing down the long, nearly-empty corridor. 

“Hi there,” Rose replies with a smirk. “I hear I get to go on a vacation, all thanks to you?”

Curiously, Ben raises an eyebrow and comments, “Word travels fast.”

“Leia sent a communiqué to the hangar as soon as you decided,” Rose explains. “I think she assumed you’d want to get out of here as soon as possible.”

He steps into his quarters, propping the door open so that Rose can follow him. “She wouldn’t be wrong,” Ben confesses easily.

His quarters are an absolute mess; they have been for days — worse, even, now that his clothes have piled up. It’s been days, and the cleaning droids only attend to his room once per week, sometimes less depending on his temper. He retreats to his closet, which he’s painfully aware is about the size of Rose’s entire living space. Rose, blunt and honest as ever, told him so when they were much younger and he hasn’t been able to shake the thought ever since.

“Your bag is over here,” Rose calls out to him, watching as Ben pokes around in his closet for his luggage, probably.

“Oh,” he looks over his shoulder. “Thanks. Could you —?”

“Sure,” Rose answers.

She plops his bag onto his massive four-poster bed and opens it. It’s at least twice the size of Rose’s, but she doesn’t need much. Ben emerges from his closet several minutes later, arms piled high with the most casual, warm clothes he owns. Alderaanian plaid in hues of red and green and blue are interspersed between plain black garments. He shoves it all unceremoniously into his bags, only vaguely listening to Rose’s protests that it’ll wrinkle. “Who’s going to care about my wrinkled clothes, you?” he replies. “We’re going to be alone.”

“Oh. Alone.”

Ben pauses his packing and fixes his full attention upon Rose. She hadn’t outwardly shown any signs of being uncomfortable with the situation before, but perhaps she hadn’t completely understood what they’d be doing. After their kiss in the hangar, it would really be the least he could do to make sure she was comfortable with being alone with him in the mountains for an unknown amount of time.

“Is that okay?” he asks finally. “If it’s not, I can —”

“It’s okay,” Rose interrupts. 

She looks flushed, and Ben’s gut twists strangely. There’s a weird sort of tension in the air, and for a moment neither of them says a word, they just look at each other. He feels his face growing hot, and suddenly his tongue is tied and he doesn’t know what to say. Rose coughs and breaks the silence.

“We should —”

“Yeah,” Ben nods.

“I got the speeder ready before I came up here,” Rose explains, trying to busy herself with pulling Ben’s bag closed.

Ben raises an eyebrow. “How did you have time to do all this?”

Rose shrugs and tries to pull the bag off the bed. She manages to get it pretty far, but it’s a lot heavier than she’d expected. “I guess you’re just slow,” she responds jokingly.

The joke cuts the tension, and Ben offers her a small smile.

“I’ll meet you down there? I just want to send a message or two, let people know where I’m going,” Ben says awkwardly.

Rose nods and reaches for Ben’s bag, but he reaches out almost immediately, trying to stop her. “No, you don’t have to do that. It’s heavy. I can — I’ll get it,” Ben says. 

“I’m not fragile,” Rose responds, standing up a little taller.

Ben looks at her, his eyes wide, his expression far more innocent than he’s looked in years. “I know. But you called it a vacation. Don’t carry my crap on your vacation.”

Rose opens her mouth like she’s going to argue, but Ben’s already reaching for his communication device and waving her out of the room. “Fine,” Rose sighs. “But only because I’m going to have to clean the whole ranch for you.”

Whether or not she’ll actually have to do that is still up in the air, as far as Ben is concerned, but he doesn’t say as much. He’s more focused on his device now. It’s easy to compose something quick to tell Poe where he’s going, but when Ben opens a new message to send something to Tallie, he hesitates. It’s much harder to figure out what to say to her. 

They haven’t spoken since the divorce was finalized — but he doesn’t want to leave without giving her a way to contact him, or at the very least, to understand why he may not respond. Truth be told, he’s not entirely sure whether they’ll receive satellite signal in the mountains.

“Tallie.”

He knows its melodramatic, recording himself speaking to her rather than writing a message like he did to Poe. Tallie deserves more, though. He wants to talk to her, and this is the closest he’ll be able to get for a while, to prevent the news from catching wind of where he is or that they’re still in contact.

“I’m sorry you have to go through all this baby stuff alone. Or… not the way you pictured, at least,” Ben rambles. 

He’s nervous, and he doesn’t really know what to say or do. His head is full of thoughts and expressing them is a challenge sometimes.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking or feeling about it, or if you need anything from me. I’ve been trying to lie low, to keep any negative stuff out of the news because I know how important this election is to you,” he continues.

Ben looks down at his lap and takes a deep breath. 

“I want you to know that I’m going to the ranch for a while. I don’t know if any comms will go through, but I want you to know that if you try to reach me and I don’t respond, it’s probably because we may not get satellite reception. I won’t be ignoring you. I would never do that.”

He rubs his hand over his face, across the stubble along his jaw. 

“Well… I hope you’re coping with this alright. You know where I am. If there’s anything I can do… I’m here.”

Ben shuts off his communications device and grabs his bag, and then leaves his room without a look back.

——

It was strange, taking a speeder across the planet’s surface rather than soaring up into space, but the further away from the Royal Palace they got, the more settled and at ease Ben felt. Rose controlled the speeder, allowing Ben some time to just close his eyes and relax.

When they arrive at the ranch, there’s no rain, but the moisture in the air is thick. A soft mist coats them in a sheen of miniscule raindrops, a strangely comforting welcome for Ben. He hasn’t visited the ranch much — often it was where Luke would stay if he’d ever deign to come out of hiding to visit. But he hasn’t visited in over a decade, and the place has fallen into slight disarray.

Rose stands next to the speeder, arms crossed as she appraises the property. It’s further from the palace than she’s ever been, aside from when she’d lived on her home planet before Leia took her in. It’s the first place she’s gone and not had to worry or stress about her conditions, or what was going to happen to her.

But as she takes in the sight of the slightly damaged wooden fence, the porch swing looking like it’s one use away from collapsing onto the wooden porch, the walls of the ranch that could use a new coat of paint… it’s going to take the entire time they’re there just to make the outside look presentable — nevermind indoors.

“We should have brought a droid,” Rose observes, looking at the sheer magnitude of the project they have ahead of them.

Ben looks over sharply, his thoughts pulled away from the resentment and slight disappointment towards Luke upon which he’d been dwelling. “What? Why?”

Rose gestures vaguely to the entire ranch. “This place is a mess.”

Shrugging, Ben grabs both of their bags before Rose can say a word about it. “We can split the work.”

“We’re going to have to,” Rose says, sounding rather displeased with the thought. “I can’t reach those rafters unless there’s a ladder somewhere, and something tells me the ladders here are rotting out, anyway.”

Ben trudges up the front stairs of the porch and directly into the home, easily using his handprint to identify himself to gain entrance. The combination of rustic craftsmanship and new technology is jarring; Ben would rather the place had no tech at all.

“Why don’t you guys send someone to live here? You have the means… or hire someone to at least maintain the place,” Rose admonishes.

She would never, ever say such a thing to Leia or even Han, but she feels comfortable saying such a thing to Ben — criticizing the royal family’s decisions regarding upkeep up of their various homesteads. 

“I hope your Coruscant penthouse isn’t this bad,” she adds, for good measure.

“It’s not. Tallie’s been living there since she became Junior Senator,” Ben responds easily, plopping their bags unceremoniously down on the floor.

He pauses, looking around the ranch, and Rose quiets as she does the same.

It looks like the home of a bygone era, something as old as the _Falcon_ and just as worn. There’s a staircase that leads up to what Rose assumes are the bedrooms. Truth be told, it’s less of a ranch and more of a cabin, all cozy wooden walls and dark interiors as a result. There’s a small living space, a couple small storage closets, and of course a kitchen. 

Unlike the Royal Palace, there are no paintings on the walls, nothing to imply that the ranch is owned by anyone, never mind the most influential family on Alderaan. 

And everything is covered in dust.

“This is it?” Rose asks, unable to help herself.

Ben nods. “This is it,” he confirms. “You clean up inside, I’ll clean up outside. Easy.”

Rose narrows her eyes. “That’s going to mean a lot more work for you than for me.”

He turns to look at her, his expression curiously blank. Rose wonders for a brief moment just how memories this place could possibly hold for Ben. 

“I need to keep busy. Take my mind off things. I don’t mind.”

She opens her mouth to protest, to say _something_ to at least be able to tell Leia she made an effort to prevent Ben from doing labor he really shouldn’t have to do. He’s the Crown Prince of Alderaan — there is no reason in the galaxy why he should have to even so much as lift a finger.

“Please. I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do up here.”

Rose snaps her mouth closed again; his plea is so earnest, and to be honest, she wasn’t sure what either of them were supposed to do while stuck in the mountains for an inordinate amount of time.

Sighing, Rose relents. “Yes, okay. But if you get hurt, I am telling your mother I said I’d do the work, but you insisted otherwise.”

The smallest of smiles plays on his lips, making Rose’s heart do something funny.

“Alright.”

——

As the sun sets on _500 Republica_ in Coruscant, Tallie is finally able to return home. It was a stressful, dreary day. She’d been trapped inside for most of it, busy in meetings with Holdo and D’Acy and Leia. They were discussing the impending marriage between Poe and Hux, and for the first time since gaining a seat in the senate and in politics, Tallie felt like an outlier. 

She sympathized with Poe, and was a strong advocate for him in trying to find some other solution than marriage to strengthen the Peace Accords between the Resistance and the First Order. But for every argument and idea she had, the older women had counterpoints and criticisms. By the end of the day, Tallie felt exhausted and defeated, and for the first time as though she had no power in the senate, regardless of her title.

Not to mention, she’d been feeling ill due to the pregnancy for most of the week. More than once, she’d had to excuse herself from the conference room in a hurry.

Now, back in her apartment — _Ben’s_ , really, but he and the rest of his family had graciously loaned it to her indefinitely, as she served on Coruscant — Tallie was ready for a calming bath and then to retreat to bed. She was grateful that the following day held no engagements other than a midday visit to the medic for an update on her pregnancy.

But as soon as she walks through the doors of the apartment, she knows something has happened. Jessika is perched at the edge of the sofa by the window, holding a comm device in her hands. As soon as the doors slide open, Jess is on her feet and approaching Tallie.

“What is it?” asks Tallie, alarmed at the sudden, immediate reaction.

“Ben sent you a message,” Jess explains, offering out the comm device. “I don’t know what it says, but he hasn’t contacted you in a while, so it seemed…”

“Urgent?” Tallie supplies.

Jess nods. Tallie thinks about her day, wonders if a message from Ben — regardless of his message — will be good for her at that point. Perhaps she should wait until morning. She considers it briefly, before realizing that Ben could be contacting for any number of reasons, the least of which being the pregnancy.

She still felt guilty for not telling him privately, first.

Knowing there’s a fifty percent chance that the comm message will be full of anger and hatred for what she did, even if he doesn’t yet know her reasons why, Tallie decides there’s no time but the present to read it and see what he had to say.

She presses the button, and is immediately surprised that rather than just typing out a message, he’s chosen to record himself speaking to her. Seeing his face again puts a twist of pain in her chest and for a moment, she has to look away. Jessika, bless her soul, stands off to the side, giving Tallie space while remaining nearby in case she needs someone there for her, to support her, to listen.

_“Tallie. I’m sorry you have to go through all this baby stuff alone. Or… not the way you pictured, at least. I don’t know what you’re thinking or feeling about it, or if you need anything from me. I’ve been trying to lie low, to keep any negative stuff out of the news because I know how important this election is to you. I want you to know that I’m going to the ranch for a while. I don’t know if any comms will go through, but I want you to know that if you try to reach me and I don’t respond, it’s probably because we may not get satellite reception. I won’t be ignoring you. I would never do that. Well… I hope you’re coping with this alright. You know where I am. If there’s anything I can do… I’m here.”_

He looks so broken, so stressed, so tired… Tallie wonders how much of it is her fault. Though they both agreed on the divorce, they’d never imagined that a baby was soon to follow. The pregnancy complicated things to a frustrating degree, and this message was proof positive of that.

Because seeing Ben so emotional and fraught over the situation made Tallie feel guilty, not just for the divorce, but for being pregnant — both things that neither could do anything about, now.

“He’s exiled himself?”

Tallie sighs. She gently tosses the comm on the sofa next to her and crosses her arms. Silently, she moves toward the window and looks out at the buildings and starships soaring past her in the pinkish-purple hues of sunset. 

“Sounds like it, doesn’t it?” Tallie responds. 

She’s frowning deeply as she considers the implications from all angles, how this could affect him, and more so, how it could affect her. Then, she sighs.

“I hope it helps him. He’s always liked it best when he’s away from the palace. This will let him clear his head, and maybe… maybe when he comes back, he’ll be better. Happier. Maybe he’ll even be able to sleep through the night again.”

Jessika nods and agrees sadly, “Yes. Maybe.”

Tallie looks down, touching her hand to the softest, smallest curve of her belly. “He was so afraid of becoming a father. He didn’t want to turn out like his own,” she says. “I didn’t think he’d care.”

Jessika approaches Tallie and stands at her side. Together, they look out the window at the life on Coruscant passing them by. “He has a big heart. He’s going to care, and he’s going to be a great father. We both know that.”

Frowning, Tallie turns to face Jess. “Yes. But his big heart has always led him to getting hurt. I couldn’t bear it if that happened yet again, with this baby.”

“Well… there’s only one way to find out,” Jess responds.

Gravely, Tallie nods.


	11. Act I, Chapter XI: Stand Tall, Stand Proud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey's training begins in earnest on the planet of Arkanis, at the tutelage of Armitage Hux. Though she doesn't yet see herself as future governor of a planet, the First Order has complete confidence in her abilities. Meanwhile, Hux's mother is proudly planning a wedding, and the Hux family hosts a guest, with plans for more to arrive in the days to come.

Rey reports to the ballroom shortly after she’s finished cleaning up with the other house staff after breakfast. Hux had, once again, taken his breakfast in his quarters — he’d taken to doing this since being back on Arkanis for all of his meals, presumably to avoid seeing his mother and father. Since moving to the estate, she’d noticed plenty of tension there, and chose to avoid it at all costs.

The ballroom makes Rey feel out of place, its opulence something that she’s never seen in her life. Gold-encrusted pillars stretch two stories high to a beautiful ceiling comprised of glass domes. One might think such an architectural feature would be rendered useless on a rainy planet like Arkanis, but Arkanisians prided themselves on their climate and their ability to adapt to it. Not only this, but much of their home design was affected by their weather patterns.

In this case, the blue-green clouds would accentuate all the colors within the ballroom, often painting beautiful patterns on the ballroom floor as raindrops fell and spread this way and that. Plus, the raindrops on the ceiling provided a beautiful background noise for any guests in the ballroom.

There wasn’t a speck of dust in the space, though Rey would wager a guess that the ballroom hadn’t been used in quite a while. In the center of the ballroom one of her peers in the service hall had already set out a table and some chairs, the marble and gold furniture fitting right into the space perfectly. The floor was a dark grey marble, and Rey’s standard-issue flats made a soft tip-tap sound as she walked upon it. 

It was to be her first official etiquette lesson, to prime her to become a leader of a planet if Snoke could make the election end as he wished it to, and Rey would be lying if she said she wasn’t a little nervous. Growing up on Jakku, she hadn’t exactly learned how to act around other people in general, never mind how to do it to convey that she was strong, powerful, and all-around better than them.

Hux’s shoes click in a much more demanding way than Rey’s as he enters the room behind her, walking briskly to the table. “We only have an hour, so let’s make the most of this, shall we?” he says, though his tone indicates Rey couldn’t argue otherwise even if she wanted to.

Instead, she nods obediently and just waits.

Raising an eyebrow, Hux stands dangerously close and waits. When Rey says nothing, he instructs, “Alright, I hadn’t intended to address this quite so soon, but I suppose we will. When you are spoken to, even in rhetoricals, you must respond verbally. Never assume your peers are watching you, especially if they’re of a higher station.”

“Okay,” Rey says with a nod.

Hux sighs, exasperated. “You use yes or no, and their title, if it applies. So the proper response in that moment would have been ‘Yes, Your Majesty’,” Hux explains.

“Right. Sorry.”

“We will get to official titles later. It varies by planet, and you’ll have to learn most of them… the important ones, at the very least,” Hux prattles on, letting the thoughts flow from his mind easily. “But today, I really wanted to address how you carry yourself physically. If we do that now, I can observe you over time and make corrections if necessary.”

Rey crosses her arms petulantly. Of all the things she thought she already had a handle on, it would be how she carries herself. She’d had to stand tall on Jakku, to assert her space.

“Enough of that.”

Hux’s stern admonition surprises Rey, and she drops her arms to her sides instinctually. She doesn’t shrink beneath his gaze, even if she’s inwardly cursing him to the other side of the galaxy for walking in a circle around her and looking down his nose at her the entire time. It makes her feel like property all over again. 

Technically, she is, and the thought still makes her feel ill.

“I’ve never liked these service clothes,” Hux says finally, reaching out to pinch at the fabric draped over Rey’s shoulder. “It’s… frumpy.”

Rey frowns. “It’s all I was given.”

“I’m aware,” Hux nods. “It wasn’t a criticism of you. But it’s very baggy and unflattering. You should get used to the clothes you’ll be expected to wear.” He debates for a moment, and then says, “I’ll speak to Mother. It’s just a plain black dress, but we can get some black dresses more in the style of a Governor. I’ll have her call the tailor today. Once they have your measurements, they can make you something to wear. You’ll still fit in with the service staff, but you’ll get used to the feeling.” He pauses. “And I can see whether you’re improving your posture at all.”

“What’s wrong with my posture!?” Rey asks, affronted.

“You always look like you’re about to fight,” Hux says without hesitation. His eyes lock with hers. “There’s a difference between looking strong and looking combative. You must learn the difference.”

Still a little defensive, Rey challenges him. “Well, teach me, then.”

“Why do you think you’re here?”

His voice carries annoyance as he raises an eyebrow and continues to look down his nose at her. Rey only notices now that he’s wearing a dark green jumper, rather than his usual black suit jacket. The rest of his outfit seems to be unchanged, but she’s still on edge because of the small change. It makes no sense to her, why he’d do such a thing. She doesn’t dare ask, either.

“So, let’s get to it, shall we,” he says without preamble. “You stand with your legs too far apart, bring them in a bit.”

Rey pulls her right foot inwards, feet now pressed together at the ankles.

“Too much. I said a bit, like this.”

Hux demonstrates what he’s looking for, and Rey copies. She finds it difficult to push aside her pride and let all her flaws be picked out, but understands that this is her only way to move up in the world and find her independence. It’s a small price to pay.

“Here,” he says, choosing to lead her across the ballroom, closer to the wall full of mirrors.

On nights when great parties were hosted in this room, Rey supposes the mirrors just made everything look even grander and more amazing than they already were. It’d be a dream to see the space through that lens. But in the moment, it just provides another way for Rey to see and hear about her flaws and she’s not fond of it.

Hux stands behind her as she takes in the sight of her reflection. Her skin carries a much warmer tone than his, and she still looks thin. The food at the manor has been helpful, but she still has a long way to go.

Their eyes meet through the mirror, Rey’s uncertainty and self-consciousness clear across her face. Hux knows he could correct her, but chooses not to. In their lessons, it is helpful for him to be able to read her, to understand what she’s uncomfortable with or not understanding. He lets it pass.

“Feet how I showed you,” he begins, waiting until Rey does as he instructs. “Now. Stand tall.”

Even when she stands as tall as possible, Rey feels short in front of Hux. Gently, his cool fingertips fall to her shoulders and he rolls her shoulders down and back. Her shoulder blades ghost over his chest, her gut twisting as she realizes how close the two of them are standing. 

“You need to relax. Don’t think of everyone as an enemy,” he says.

Rey narrows her eyes. “It’s a little hard to shake something you’ve been thinking for as long as you can remember,” she says through gritted teeth.

“I don’t care what the reason,” he responds curtly. “If you’re half as intelligent as you are strong, you’ll find a way to get past those thoughts.” He pauses, his hands resting upon her shoulders for a moment as he studies her posture in the mirror. “Besides — most people _are_ enemies. You just want to hide that you’re thinking of them in such a way.”

She nods. Perhaps that’s why she’s having such difficulty even trusting the people who gave her asylum from Snoke’s ship. The Hux family, though generous, seem the types to only do something if it benefits them in some way. Which means that Rey finds it difficult to trust them, and those thoughts, too, could be getting in the way of her training.

“Now,” Hux continues. “Lift your hand as though you’re going to shake someone’s hand.”

Rey moves brusquely, lifting her right hand quickly.

“No.”

She’d seen that coming. His hand, still cool even after resting upon her warm shoulder, pushes her hand back down to rest by her side. 

“There’s no hurry. Once you are governor, time is a luxury you can afford, and it will be your greatest weapon,” he says. He leans in, practically whispering in her ear at this point. “The true mark of a leader is how many people you can force to wait for you. And you, Rey, are going to demand such respect of _all_ of the Resistance. And you _will_ succeed.”

The way he says it sends a shiver down her spine. She can smell his scent, the never-ending hint of rain mixed with the tea he took with his breakfast and his cologne, a scent she’s never been able to pinpoint. Most scents are unfamiliar to her, nothing but the smell of scorching sand and cheap portions etched into her memory forever, so far. 

“Try it again, slower.”

He keeps his hands braced on her upper arms, just above her elbows, holding her in place. Rey moves only her right arm, from the elbow down, stiffly bringing her hand up as though to shake someone’s hand. At least she took his direction to move slowly. 

“Better,” he says, knowing a full-on criticism won’t help anyone. “You’re still too tense, though.”

Rey grits her teeth. Aside from the fact that nobody has ever stood so close to her ever before in her life unless they were trying to steal from her, she can’t shake his scent or how strange it still feels to be in regular conversation and contact with a prince.

Rey drops her hand back to her side before trying again. She raises her right hand, moving only at the elbow. Instead of barking instructions, Hux reaches out. He slides his hand down her bare arm, and Rey watches their reflection as Hux keeps his gaze focused on Rey’s body. “This is good,” he says, smoothing his touch down her forearm. 

“Here is where you’re tense,” he adds as his fingers brush her wrist, and then glide down the back of her hand towards her fingers. 

“Keep your hand relaxed, fingers loose. You’ll seem less uptight and intimidating.” 

He darts the tips of his fingers between hers right at the knuckles, splitting her fingers apart. “Think _delicate_ ,” he instructs, practically purring in her ear.

Rey closes her eyes for a moment, swallowing past a lump in her throat when she feels the heat of his breath upon the shell of her ear. In an instant, his touch is absent from her body, and Rey’s eyes flash open. She looks up at their reflection in the mirror and curses herself for blushing, for becoming so affected by a silly little lesson. 

“Look at your hand,” he instructs, seemingly unaffected by the entire interaction. “This is what you should look like when moving to shake someone’s hand.”

A question presses in Rey’s mind, and she has to clear her throat to regain some composure before she asks. “Won’t I look weak?”

“No,” Hux responds simply, shaking his head. 

His hands are back upon her shoulders, inching them back and down again, since she was too tense and too stressed to keep the relaxed posture he’d shown her earlier.

“Your handshake is how people determine if you are weak. Every way you move should indicate power, yet delicacy.”

“Phasma doesn’t do that,” Rey argues before she can stop herself.

She half expects anger from Hux, but instead, she’s only met with a coy, amused gaze and the faintest traces of a smile at one corner of his mouth. “Indeed,” he agrees. “Phasma is unique. I fear she would be offended if you tried to steal her style.”

Recalling something she heard a junk trader say to Plutt when he’d been accused of stealing something, Rey smirks. “They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

Hux’s amusement grows, and he allows himself to show her a small smile. Rey swells with pride, with accomplishment, pleased with herself for drawing such a reaction out of him. She’d feared nothing but exasperation and ire from him throughout all of their lessons. This feels like a better start than she could have hoped for.

“Your tongue will help you greatly, so long as you are careful,” Hux warns.

He steps away from her, and turns her as he steps in front of her. Rey glances left, looking at the two of them in profile. She looks so out of place here, in her poofy-in-all-the-wrong-places service staff dress, her three buns down her head, all in comparison to Hux’s clear good fortune and good looks.

“Focus.”

Rey’s head snaps forward. She nods and takes a deep breath. “Right. Sorry.” 

“Show me the posture we just learned.”

Breathing in, Rey rolls her shoulders back, straightens her spine, and draws her right foot in just a couple of inches. “Good,” Hux nods appraisingly, and Rey finds herself preening at the praise. “Now, we will simulate a meeting between you and I,” Hux instructs. “Are you ready?”

Again, Rey takes a breath and tells herself she is powerful, she is strong, and that she has already reached this status in society that Snoke has promised her. “Miss… Rey,” Hux begins. He pauses, breaking the simulation for a moment. “We never asked your surname.”

Rey is startled by the change in situation. “I… oh.” She looks down, and her shoulders slump. “I don’t have one, as far as I know.”

“No surname?” Hux asks. “You’re… just Rey?”

“Yes. No surname, no middle name, nothing like the rest of you all have,” Rey snaps. When she realizes she’s just burst and shouted at Hux, she amends, “Sorry.”

Hux shakes his head. “No matter. I’ll take this to Mother and Father, we’ll find a name for you before you’re presented to society.”

Rey looks up at Hux, surprised at his immediate offer to assist her. Their family has already done so much; to go to such great lengths seems like more than the Supreme Leader required of them. She’s grateful and doesn’t know how to say so, not in a way that would make any impact.

“Alright, let’s refocus,” Hux says. 

The two of them slightly adjust their posture and Hux begins again. “Miss Rey,” he continues, offering his hand to her.

“M —” Rey stops herself before she says the wrong thing. “Your Majesty.”

She raises her hand in just the way he taught her, her fingers relaxed, her movement slow and patient. It’s excruciating for Rey, who’s never moved at such a leisurely pace ever before in her life. Their hands meet, and it’s difficult for Rey to restrain herself from gripping his hand fiercely. The alternative, she finds, is a delicate touch that she feels isn’t nearly powerful enough. 

If Hux is bothered by it, he doesn’t say. Instead, the first thing that comes to his mind is to say, “Good correction. If you’d called me Mister Hux, I…”

“Thank you,” she interrupts.

The entire moment is slow and steady, the two of them stuck, gazing into each other’s eyes. For a moment, Rey forgets where she is or what they’re supposed to be doing — his eyes are warm and inviting in a way the rest of him is not. She licks her lips and her heart skips a beat when she notices that his gaze drops to her mouth.

They’re pulled from the moment as another service worker enters, bringing them tea. Rey coughs and steps back, and Hux crosses his arms in front of his chest. “You need a firmer grip in the handshake,” he barks. “We’ll work on it.”

“Of course,” Rey nods.

She looks down, pointedly avoiding turning her head towards the service worker, for fear that they’ll see the deep crimson blush upon her cheeks.

“Come. Time for your next lesson,” Hux says, walking to the table as though nothing ever happened.

Rey finds herself wishing she could do the same.

——

That evening for dinner, Hux was told in no uncertain terms that he would be required to dine with his parents. They would be entertaining Phasma, and it was improper for Hux to abstain from dinner in the formal dining room while they had guests.

Hux agrees without an argument, but only because Phasma will be there. He informs Rey that it will be her duty to entertain Phasma’s assistant, Mitaka, whom she met briefly at the Wexley wedding. She didn’t spend enough time with him to fully formulate an opinion of the man, so is curious to see how things go once he arrives.

Dinner isn’t as bad as it would have otherwise been for Hux, thanks to Phasma’s mere presence at the table. The first part of their meal is filled with Elizabeth and Brendol getting the usual pleasantries out of the way, asking Phasma about herself, asking how her residents are doing, asking as to the status of things with Con Star Mining. All is well, much to Hux’s chagrin, purely because it means he’ll become the topic of conversation sooner rather than later.

“You know, speaking of visits to other planets — and we’re so happy to have you here as our guest, Captain Phasma — Armitage, we must plan your next outing as soon as possible,” Elizabeth says with what anyone else might see as a polite smile.

Hux, however, knows it’s the expression his mother wears when scheming, and it frustrates him unbearably, even though she hasn’t actually said where he’s supposed to go.

“Oh?” he says, prompting her for more.

“You’re going to need to make a visit to Yavin IV. Visit your fiancé,” Elizabeth explains. 

She’s smiling proudly, and Hux feels a flash of anger because of it. He looks to Phasma, who is sitting back in her chair and pointedly staying out of it. 

“If it was the Resistance’s proposal to do this stupid marriage, shouldn’t _he_ be the one to come _here_?” Hux argues.

“Well, it was more of a mutual decision than —”

“Elizabeth, he makes a point,” Brendol interjects, looking up from his meal. “Granted, it was a mutual decision, but the Resistance is far more desperate for this union than the First Order. I daresay we could negotiate for a visit to Arkanis.”

Frowning, Elizabeth says, “Well… I suppose. But it really would be proper for Armitage to visit Yavin.”

“I won’t argue with you there,” he replies. “But a visit here _first_ should absolutely be arranged.”

Elizabeth nods. “Of course. I’ll make the call this evening. Two days?”

Brendol nods, turning his full focus back to his meal.

Hux sits in his seat to his father’s left, stewing. Though he did win a small victory, he’s still dreading spending time with Poe Dameron and his stupid Resistance friends. 

“This actually works better for us all, anyway,” Elizabeth continues the conversation, even if Hux would prefer she didn’t. “I’ve started arrangements for the wedding, and perhaps he’ll have more opinions than you, Armitage.”

Hux takes a sip of his wine and sends a surreptitious eye roll Phasma’s way. She smirks as she brings her own wine glass to her lips.

“Perhaps,” Hux agrees.

With a clatter, Elizabeth’s silverware fall to her plate. “Would it be all that awful for you to make just _one_ decision about your own wedding?” she asks, her patience worn thin.

“Mother, I don’t care about mundane things like place settings and flowers. I care that I wear a suit I feel comfortable in, that the man you’re forcing me to marry dresses appropriately as well, and that his people don’t cause a scene,” Hux barks. “That’s _all_ I want. Besides, isn’t most of it dictated by tradition?”

“You could at least show some interest in it,” Elizabeth admonishes. “You don’t seem to care at all.”

“You _know_ I don’t care, Mother,” Hux responds. “Now, are we quite finished? Rey has been behind you with the dessert for a while now.”

Elizabeth looks over her shoulder. “Oh, I’m sorry, Rey. Please, continue.”

Rey bows her head, and then hands out a small dish of cake to each guest at the table. It’s rich and chocolatey, Hux’s favorite when he was a child. He ignores his mother in order to keep his temper in check, but she watches him closely, observing his reaction to the dessert. “This cake… you’d prefer it for the wedding,” she observes.

Hux looks up, annoyed. “I’ve always liked this cake.”

She nods. “Noted.”

Phasma looks absolutely gleeful with amusement as she watches the exchange, and doesn’t hesitate to bring it up the moment she and Hux are in the corridor, out of earshot of his parents.

“Your mother is tricking you into cake testing.”

Annoyed, Hux looks over at Phasma. “What? No she’s not.”

“She is,” Phasma responds. She looks positively smug at having picked up on it. “I would imagine you’ve had far more cake for dessert since the engagement was agreed upon. Am I right?”

Hux glares at Phasma as they continue to walk. It’s true, but he refuses to acknowledge that she was right. Furthermore, he’s incredibly annoyed with his mother for ever doing such a thing, and vows to never give opinions on dessert ever again. Or at least, not until after the wedding. Though given how many times they’ve eaten cake for dessert, she probably has enough data with which to make an informed decision.

Once they’re in the East Wing, away from Hux’s parents and more importantly, away from the help, Phasma says, “Rey is cute now that she’s not so close to death.”

Hux barely turns his head as he glares to Phasma. “She’s the service. I’m not thinking of her that way.”

“Mm-hmm,” Phasma humms. 

She follows Hux into his private quarters and across his room, to the drink cart near his balcony. “I’m not,” Hux repeats.

“You should go for it,” Phasma continues, watching Hux closely, toeing the line between just enough and too much ribbing.

Hux sighs and pours himself a generous glass of dark brown liquor; he pointedly doesn’t pour a glass for Phasma, too annoyed with her antics to go to such a basic courtesy. “Please,” Hux rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to fuck the help.”

“You wouldn’t be the first,” Phasma adds.

Hux’s brow furrows.

“I mean it,” Phasma insists. She pours herself some of the same liquor Hux helped himself to, and then follows him out onto the balcony. “You’re about to be married off, which would make sleeping with the help after _that_ a terrible scandal that your mother would never forgive you for. It’s best to do it now, have one last hurrah. Besides, I imagine she’ll be married off to Kylo Ren soon, too.”

Hux leans against the railing with his forearms, cradling the liquor in both hands. “He would do that?”

“Oh, I’d say it’s almost a guarantee,” Phasma says. “They could produce more Force-users, carry out Snoke’s long-term plans long after he’s dead.”

“Rey Ren doesn’t exactly have a _ring_ to it,” Hux mocks.

Phasma smirks. “You think Kylo Ren is his real name? No, Snoke will give her an entirely new name. Perhaps she’ll be one of Ren’s knights, perhaps not,” she says. “It’s merely me speculating at this point, but it seems the logical progression of things.”

“Ugh,” Hux complains. He takes a sip of his drink and takes a deep breath. “I cannot wait until this marriage phase of everyone’s life is done and over with. It’s irritating. There are bigger issues in the galaxy than who should marry whom.”

Shrugging, Phasma confesses, “Oh, I agree. It’s mundane, and a little predictable.”

“On the other hand, issues in the galaxy are also incredibly boring,” Hux says, ruminating on his thoughts before he says more. “I don’t care about this plot to find Skywalker, other than I’m relieved that it’s gotten Kylo Ren out of our meetings for a while. His temper is irritating and childish. But again — this plot… why does it matter?”

“We need to destroy the Jedi,” Phasma replies simply.

“Why? The only remaining Jedi has exiled himself, presumably to die,” Hux counters. “Then, as far as we know, the only remaining Force users are Kylo Ren and Rey.”

“And Ben Solo.”

Hux glares over at Phasma, who’s looking at him more like she’s his teacher and less like she’s his friend.

“He wrote off the Force when Skywalker’s school was destroyed,” Hux argues. “He doesn’t even count.”

Phasma shrugs. “Fair point,” she concedes. “It’s something to keep Ren busy. With his temper, the further he stays away from politics, the better.”

She walks to the table and chairs, but rather than sitting on the chair where water from the most recent rain has pooled, she leans against the table. 

“I mean it, Armitage. Sleep with the girl while you have the chance. Or go out and sleep with someone else,” Phasma advises. “But I’m telling you, she’s right here, and she seems awfully focused on you.”

“She does not,” Hux snaps. “Can we drop this? I’m not going to fuck some scavenger we found on Jakku.”

“Suit yourself,” Phasma shrugs. “She’s cute. You’d probably have a good time with her.”

Scowling, Hux says, “Don’t be crude.”

“Oh, please,” she replies. “I’d do it if I were into women. In fact, I hope you know I plan on visiting while your fiancé is here, purely so I can meet his Hand.”

Hux fixes Phasma with an unamused gaze, one eyebrow raised.

“Haven’t you seen him? Tall, dark, and handsome? Plus, he looks like he could actually be a formidable opponent in a fight,” she says, gushing as much as someone as rock-solid and difficult to read as Phasma could possibly be. 

“Well then, I hope _you_ get laid while they’re here, because I certainly won’t be,” Hux grumbles.

Phasma smiles knowingly.

“I think you’ll get some sooner than you think.”

Hux feigns gagging and disappears back into his bedroom, ignoring Phasma’s shouts towards his retreating back as she follows.


	12. Act I, Chapter XII: Finding Common Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finn and Poe arrive on Arkanis, for the much-anticipated first formal meeting of the betrothed: Prince Poe of Yavin and Prince Armitage of Arkanis. It's clear that neither wants the marriage, and one particularly nosy service worker in the Arkan City Estate persists in finding out just where all the hostility comes from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting on this may slow down a little in the weeks to come; I'm not sure it's getting any readership and if that's the case, I need to re-motivate myself to post this for me. Thank you to those of you who have made it this far and are still sticking out around to see how this story unfolds. I hope it doesn't disappoint.

Poe sits in the pilot’s seat of their small transport, bags in the back and Finn to his right. He’s been stewing the entire ride, still angry that at the last minute, he was told rather than hosting Hux on Yavin, he was required to visit Arkanis, first. Poe had gone on a rant that lasted longer than an hour, Finn patiently listening to the whole thing.

But now Poe had exhausted himself, each rant wearing him out a little bit more than the last. Yet still, he managed to find something in himself to complain about, still.

“I should be out trying to find Skywalker, like Leia _used to_ want me to do,” Poe complains. “But no. Now instead of actually doing something courageous to try to save the Resistance, I’m marrying some ginger jerk.”

“Poe —”

“Luke could fix this. I _know_ it,” Poe sighs, leaning back in his chair.

Finn glances over and asks hesitantly, “How do we even know that he’s still alive?”

“Ben says he is, and I trust Ben.”

They’ve talked about it many, many times — it’s natural to be skeptical when someone doesn’t show their face for years, especially after a disaster such as the Jedi Academy burning down. Most thought Luke died in the fire, and very few tried to dispel that rumor. But Poe asked Ben, and Ben told him the truth.

“Why do you trust him?” Finn asks.

It’s been clear for years that Finn doesn’t trust Ben, though Poe has never really been able to figure out why. Ben has never done anything inherently bad, especially to Finn, so Poe just doesn’t understand how anyone could be so skeptical. 

“Why _don’t_ you trust him?” Poe counters. “He’s my best friend.”

“Look — it’s kind of hard to explain, but around the lower levels…” Finn trails off; he knows that Poe is already angry, that saying anything further could make him really blow up. But he also asked, and they’ve never really had this conversation before. “People are wondering whether Ben’s fit to rule. He’s done a lot that makes people doubt him.”

Poe shakes his head. “He got divorced. Big deal.”

“Try, he quit being a Jedi for no reason at all.”

“The reason is his bloodline. He quit being a Jedi because he has a planet to run one day. It’s the same as me not being able to serve in the air fleet. Too dangerous for someone of our status,” Poe explains.

“Yes, but didn’t his grandpa rule something?” Finn asks.

“Buddy,” Poe says with a bit of a laugh. “His grandfather was Darth Vader. The guy created a super-weapon and ruled Mustafar and killed a bunch of people. You’d run from that part of your bloodline, too.”

Finn raises an eyebrow. “You think he wrote off being a Jedi so he wouldn’t become like his grandfather?”

“I know he’s told me he was afraid of it when we were kids,” Poe confesses. The tension disappears from his face, instead replaced with a heavy frown, and perhaps even some pity. “He told me his parents were afraid of it, too. And Luke. And his mom puts so much emphasis on Alderaan and keeping the peace, it being such a peaceful planet…” 

“Right.”

“Anyway,” Poe shakes his head. “Everyone needs to give the guy a break. He’s going through a lot in his personal life and on top of it, he’s trying to figure out how to be a leader while everyone’s doubting him.”

Finn is quiet; he watches as an incredibly deep green and blue planet comes into view, instead mulling over Poe’s words in his head. Maybe it’s true, everyone’s being too hard on Ben, but at the same time, the people of their planet and of the planets on the side of the Resistance deserve to know that their leadership is indomitable.

Both men feel dread in their stomachs as they touch down on the tarmac of the Arkan City Estate. It’s a dreary, gloomy planet — perfect to describe how they’re both feeling about the situation, Poe more so than Finn. 

Out on the tarmac, underneath a rain shield, stands a beautiful young woman in a slimming black dress. She wears boots that rise mid-calf with her dress that ends at the knee, and a grey shawl around her shoulders. The air of Arkanis is brisk and stings against Poe and Finn’s skin, and the girl rushes to them with more rain shields that they can project up above their heads. 

“Thanks,” Poe says.

“Yeah, thanks,” echoes Finn.

“Welcome to the Arkan City Estate,” she says, smiling warmly at them.

Both men are surprised by the warm welcome, and barely recognize her as the young woman who attended to Hux at the Wexley wedding. 

“I’m Rey. Let me show you to your rooms,” she continues.

She’s still smiling at them, and both men are amazed with how warm and friendly her smile is; she’s probably the kindest person on Arkanis, without a doubt. It’s a long trek up the walk to the Estate, and Poe grumbles the whole time about his loafers getting all wet from the rain. “I hope I never have to live here,” Poe mumbles under his breath.

Neither Finn nor Rey says a word about it. 

Their shoes squeak on the stone floors of the estate, giving Poe one more thing to roll his eyes about. He hates the rain, and he’s glad that it’s not quite so common on Yavin.He likes being outside far too much.

The walk to their destination is abysmally short, and Poe finds himself ditching his luggage and following Rey to another room in the estate. “So is this guy like… nice?” Finn asks, directing the question at nobody in particular.

Poe scoffs.

“Yes, he is,” Rey replies.

Finn looks curiously between the two of them. “Oh-kay then,” he winces. “This will be great.”

The sitting room is immaculate; Poe knows the moment he steps into the room that he doesn’t belong. The room is dark, swaths of green velvet and dark marble cloaking the room in even more darkness than the dreary sky outside already provides. Hux is seated casually in a chair by the fire, wearing a dark suit that washes out his skin. A glass of liquor perches just barely in his hand, like if someone walks too close it’ll slip right from his slender fingers. He doesn’t even look up when they enter.

Phasma is there, though, and she looks quite pleased to see them. Poe definitely notices the way her eyes linger upon Finn for a moment longer than is appropriate. He looks to Finn to see if he’s noticed, but he hasn’t even looked her way. He’s too busy looking at Hux, and then to Poe, like he can’t believe they’re going to be forced to marry.

The silence stretches on, Rey busying herself with pouring a drink for Poe, the same liquor Phasma and Hux are sipping on. But the rest of the group says nothing. Hux doesn’t look up from where he’s gazing quite dazedly into the fire, and Phasma allows herself to leer freely at Finn for as long as he’s not looking in her direction.

The rain picks up speed on the rooftop of the palace, the only sound as the silence stretches on, growing more and more awkward as each second passes.

“Well, alright,” Phasma cuts in. She sits up. “I guess I’ll have to be the voice of reason. Let’s go, shall we? Leave the lovebirds to themselves?”

Hux turns his head sharply and aims a look of strong ire at Phasma, but she ignores him. “Rey,” she says, turning her head to Rey and pointedly ignoring Hux. “Why don’t you pour a drink for yourself and Finn, as well? It’s delicious, and it would be a shame if the two of you didn’t get to taste it.”

Rey hesitates at first, but Phasma’s logic is as sound as any, and Rey would be lying if she said she hadn’t wondered what it tastes like, since Phasma and Hux drink it so often. Besides, it’s an order from the ruler of Parnassos — it’d be disrespectful to decline.

Once they have their drinks, Phasma takes the liberty of leading Finn and Rey out of the room, closing the manual doors quite loudly to emphasize that Hux and Poe are now all alone, closed in the sitting room of the Arkan City Estate. 

Poe has already taken several sizeable sips of liquor and elected to sit in the chair opposite Hux, next to the fire. The flames are pretty big, but even so, Poe feels a chill in his bones.

“So.”

Poe rolls his eyes. Hux is going to try to make conversation, inevitably, and it’s going to be painful. Like pulling teeth, but even worse because this is _Hux_ , and Poe isn’t interested.

Rather than speaking, Poe just looks up, his eyes locking with Hux’s. The glow of the fire makes his hair look even redder than it usually is, the color striking against his black suit and his fair skin. His eyes look red in the wake of the flames of the fire, a curious sight to see. 

“Let’s not make this too unnecessarily difficult, shall we?” Hux proposes.

Poe sighs and shakes his head. “They got to you. I can’t believe it. _You_. I thought you were supposed to be like… the brains behind the First Order.”

Hux narrows his eyes. “I am. Are you implying that in order to be the _brains_ of the operation, I’m unable to experience attraction?”

In a long, drawn out moment of silence, Poe really studies Hux, looking him over. Hux can practically see the calculations coursing through the man’s head — getting tangled up in his curls, no doubt, given how long he’s spent thinking.

Finally, Poe shakes his head and lifts the hand that clutches his drink, dangling the glass from his fingertips as he points and says, “You’re not attracted to me.”

Hux has never had to play a part quite like this one before. He allows himself to frown and hopes that he looks hurt as he tears his gaze away from Poe. _Please be believable._ Granted, deep down, he’s a little hurt that Dameron would so easily dismiss him; he’d be lucky to have him. He _is_ lucky to have him. Hux has far more laid ahead of him to inherit than Poe ever will, and the man should be grateful he’d be included in such fortunes.

But Hux focuses on disappointment, on sadness, as he lets the silence ring on.

Rain pelts down upon the windows, falling in sheets. Poe visibly shivers, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Hux. “Are you cold?” Hux asks. “I could fetch you a —”

“I’m fine.”

Poe slumps in his chair a little, lazily tipping his cup to his lips so he can take another sip of the liquor. His face doesn’t change at all, and Hux genuinely finds himself respecting Poe a little miniscule bit more for being able to sip liquor so casually. Many royals make a face, unable to handle the smooth burn as it goes down.

“I’m _trying_. Am I really so repulsive that you won’t even give me an opportunity?”

Hux’s small outburst must shock Poe, because he raises an eyebrow curiously. “I don’t _trust_ you,” Poe responds. “You act against everything I stand for on a daily basis.”

“It’s how I was raised,” Hux argues. “You understand that, don’t you?”

It’s so unnerving for Hux, trying to be open and honest and truthful — as truthful as one can be when playing a character to try to convince Dameron to fall in love with him — and he doesn’t like it. He feels vulnerable, which is silly because he’s not even _actually_ opening up.

Poe nods as he thinks it over, and Hux genuinely doesn’t know what the man is thinking or what could possibly come out of his mouth next. When he stands up, Hux follows with his gaze, but doesn’t make any sort of move to stand. Not yet, anyway. He wants to hear what Poe is about to say. For all he knows, he’s going to leave. Whatever happens — Hux knows he must keep his cool.

“You expect me to believe that the guy who built the weapon that destroyed a planet is interested in me? That he likes me?” Poe shakes his head, beginning to walk the small distance to the fireplace. “That’s not a compliment, last time I checked.”

Hux frowns and asks, “How did you know I created the weapon?”

The abrupt change in topic surprises Poe, and he pauses with his back to Hux before he spins around, looking amused. “Leia figured it out a while ago. She said your file says you studied engineering and weaponry. Your dad didn’t and Snoke sure as hell didn’t, so it’s pretty obvious no matter what your people are telling the galaxy,” Poe answers. He seems quite pleased to be able to tell Hux that their lie was so obvious. “The Resistance considers you one of their biggest threats.”

Hux scoffs. He genuinely hadn’t known that their story was as transparent as Poe says it is, and that bothers him a bit. Yet at the same time, Hux feels a smug satisfaction at knowing that all over the galaxy, people see him as a threat — they see his intellect and his creations and understand that with the right people on his side, he can do anything he wants.

Better yet, Poe is already divulging Resistance secrets to him — the entire reason Hux is betrothed to him in the first place.

“So intellect is not something you look for in a partner?”

“No, I —” Poe turns, leaning his elbow on the mantle of the fireplace. He turns to look at Hux and says, “I like smart people. Who wouldn’t? It’s just what you use the smarts for that makes the difference. You committed a kriffing _genocide_.”

Hux stands now, shaking his head. “My father and Snoke committed genocide. I designed Starkiller Base to their specifications, as accurately as I could because I don’t do sloppy work,” Hux argues.

“You’re not innocent in this, Hux,” Poe gestures angrily at him, still dangling his glass in his hand. 

It’s difficult for Hux to bite his tongue and keep his primary focus in mind. He wants nothing more than to argue with Poe and defend himself — he didn’t take _any_ lives, and Poe would do well to remember that — but that’s not what matters most. 

“Would you forgive me if I acknowledged that? Begged for your forgiveness?” Hux counters, working hard to keep his voice level and calm.

Poe is quiet.

“Exactly,” Hux sighs. “It’s more than the weapon. You’re resisting this because there’s something about _me_ you find repulsive.”

“That’s kind of a strong word,” Poe argues. 

Hux raises an eyebrow and steps closer to the fireplace, and of course to Poe. “So you _don’t_ find me repulsive?”

“I told you,” says Poe, annoyed. “I don’t really know you.”

“You don’t know me, yet you’re unwilling to get to know me,” Hux clarifies. “I don’t understand.”

Poe steps towards Hux. “It’s easy to understand. You contributed to some of the worst things to ever happen in the galaxy, and that’s all I need to know,” he says. “There’s nothing you could say to me to change my mind about you.”

Hux looks affronted. Convincing Poe that he’s interested in him is going to be far more difficult than he’d originally planned; he’d genuinely thought that, like most of the Resistance, Poe would be easier to sway. 

He’s stronger than he looks.

“What if,” Hux begins, stepping closer to Poe, standing toe to toe with him and forcing Poe to look up and into his eyes. “I don’t say anything?”

“We danced once, that’s good enough for me,” Poe responds, shaking his head and stepping back.

Frustration mounts within Hux, but he refuses to give up; he _needs_ to succeed in convincing Poe to like him and trust him. At least he doesn’t also have to convince him to marry him — that part has already been taken care of.

“Something could change your mind,” Hux says, like a statement, though really he’s inquiring just what that something might be. “Tell me what it is.”

He looks into Poe’s eyes, and he tries his damndest to convey as much vulnerability as possible. Poe is quiet, his eyes never breaking contact as he tries to read Hux and figure out what his angle is. 

Hux softens his expression, nearly pleads as he prompts again, “Tell me.”

Poe hesitates, opens his mouth, and for a moment Hux thinks he’s actually gotten through to him and convinced him to open up. But then Poe purses his lips, shakes his head, and looks down. “You’re not gonna change who you are, and I’m not gonna change who I am. There’s nothing either of us can do to —”

Hux’s cold fingers drift beneath Poe’s chin, tilting his face upwards, their eyes meeting once more. When their eyes lock, Poe’s sentence dies upon his lips. 

It’s now or never. 

Hux closes the distance between them, keeping his fingers gentle beneath Poe’s chin as he connects their mouths. He’s gentle, hesitant, still acting the part he must play in order to convince Poe to trust him. It’s a tender moment, Hux catching his breath in his throat, reveling in the way Poe’s free hand reaches out between them to grip the lapel of his suit jacket tightly, his knuckles white.

Hesitantly, Hux tries to deepen the kiss, his tongue darting out lightly against Poe’s lips before he readjusts, finding a comfortable place as he gets used to kissing this man. 

And really, there’s nothing unpleasant about Poe, aside from his political affiliations. Hux could be in a far worse situation, this he knows.

But as suddenly as his earlier statement had stopped, so too did the kiss. Poe breaks and steps back, his eyes wide, the hand once fisted in the front of Hux’s jacket pushing the man backwards just a bit. Hux stumbles, a bit of liquor bouncing to the rim of his glass and dripping upon his hand at the impact. 

“I —”

Poe lifts his free hand, pointing angrily at Hux as he stakes another step back. “Don’t do that again,” he says, his voice lacking any sort of conviction. His voice cracks as he says, “You can’t just…”

He trails off, unable to bring himself to even say it. 

“ _Never_ again,” Poe warns, before setting down his glass on the table next to the fire.

Mumbling to himself, Poe moves frantically, erratically to the doorway. As he leaves the sitting room, Hux plays up the act in one more move by shouting after him, “Poe!”

He’d even gone to the trouble of using the man’s given name rather than his surname or title, but Poe didn’t look back. Sighing in defeat, Hux sits back down in his chair by the fire. He scoots a bit closer, his fingers grown almost uncomfortably cold now. 

That wasn’t exactly the stellar start he’d been hoping for. 

There were rumors, of course, that Prince Poe liked to enjoy the company of others. Most had been confirmed by someone or another, so Hux had thought nothing of initiating an innocent little kiss. He hadn’t expected it to frighten Poe quite so much, and it was frustrating that Hux couldn’t predict the man’s reactions and responses. It was like war, but even more challenging if he’d even thought it possible.

Hux crosses one leg over the other and uses his free hand to prop up his head as he leans to the side. The flames of the fire dance, the wood crackling. It’s warm, but the fire has begun to dwindle. Hux has no intention of staying in the room, so he allows the flames to lessen. He will grow colder, but doesn’t mind. Watching the flames disappear into the piles of charred wood is oddly soothing for him.

In the doorway, someone clears their throat. 

Hux doesn’t acknowledge them, doesn’t feel like speaking. And on the off chance it happens to be Poe, come to beg forgiveness for what he’s done, Hux would like to make the man work for it. He’d insulted him greatly by running off like that. Hundreds of people would kill for the chance to kiss Hux — that was what happened when one was a Prince.

“Master Hux.”

It’s Rey. Hux turns his head to face her, raising an eyebrow in mild curiosity as she enters the room further. She’s wearing the same dress as before, this time paired with a thicker shawl; he’s noticed that Rey has had some difficulty adjusting to a new climate. 

“We’re not training, there’s no need to be so formal,” Hux reminds her.

Rey sits hesitantly in the chair opposite, confusion furrowed across her brow. “What am I to call you, then?” she asks.

He shrugs and looks back at the fire. “Doesn’t much matter to me, to be frank. Just Hux will suffice, I suppose.”

“You suppose.”

She’s raising her eyebrow and studying him curiously, he notices as he looks back up at her. He knows that she has questions she wants to ask, but is refraining from asking them.

“Yes?”

He’d quite like her to just speak freely, but she’s trying very hard to be proper. Hux appreciates that his mother’s lessons with Rey are working, as are his own, but sometimes he wishes she’d be a little more outspoken like she used to be. Half the appeal of taking in Rey was that she could match him intellectually, at least in matters outside of his professional training.

“Are you alright?” she asks. “I saw Poe leaving, and —”

“He’s fine, he was being melodramatic,” Hux begins. “And I’m a bit frustrated, to be honest.”

Confused, Rey says, “How come?”

Hux sighs and sits upright in his chair. He’s still trying to keep himself calm; the last thing he wants to do is lash out at Rey when quite honestly, she appears to be the only one taking any consideration for Hux’s feelings.

“Well, you know neither of us particularly enjoys the other’s company,” Hux begins. 

Rey looks amused. “I picked up on that, yes.”

Hux glances to the doorway behind her, and then back to Rey. Poe hasn’t returned — he likely isn’t going to. “I have decided it is better for everyone’s sake to just make an effort and hope that we can find… some common ground —”

“You’re lying.”

Her sudden outburst catches Hux off guard, and he asks before he can stop himself, “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re lying. You don’t want to make an effort to find common ground,” Rey clarifies. “This is all just an act. You’re doing what you must in order to ensure the First Order succeeds with Snoke’s plan. Just as I’m doing what I must in order to gain my freedom.”

Hux narrows his eyes and really takes a moment to study Rey. She’s incredibly astute, more so than he ever would have guessed. It takes him by surprise, and he needs to take a moment to formulate a response. It’s not as though she’s _wrong._

“That doesn’t negate my efforts,” he argues. “In order to find common ground and convince Dameron that our arranged marriage isn’t going to be as disastrous as he thinks, I need to invest a great amount of effort.”

“And you have absolutely no interest in him whatsoever?” Rey asks. 

She daintily crosses one leg over another and pulls her shawl tighter around her shoulders. The fire is dwindling, and the chill of the evening creeps into the old room of the Estate. Rey has already changed so much since moving in with them.

Hux sighs, a hint of exasperation in the gesture. “He’s not ugly,” he concedes. 

That causes Rey to chuckle, and she shakes her head. “So what is he missing?”

The question stuns Hux; he doesn’t have an answer to that, and the realization of that is unnerving for him. His expression sours, and he turns away to look to the fire. The flames crackle, and Rey gives him a moment to answer before taking his silence as the absence of one.

“You don’t even know what you want, do you?”

Hux rolls his eyes. “I know what I _want_. I want to be a King in my own right, without having to listen to my father or my mother or even _Snoke_ ,” he snaps. “I’m sick of Kylo Ren parading around the First Order like he belongs here and has any power.”

“I meant in your relationship,” Rey counters, speaking over him.

He shakes his head. “I don’t want one.”

“Everybody wants one.”

She sounds so sure of herself that it catches him off guard. Hux meets her gaze and narrows his eyes. “I told you, I don’t, and I meant what I said,” he says stubbornly. “Relationships are messy and exhausting. Why do _you_ want one?”

“Are they really, though?” she counters. “I’ve heard it means you’re not alone. That you have someone there to think about and share your life with.” 

Rey goes silent, her gaze drifting off somewhere over his shoulder. It’s so melodramatic, Hux almost mocks her.

“I’ve lived my whole life, as long as I can remember, all alone,” Rey continues. Her voice goes soft, and Hux swears it cracks when she turns her gaze back to him and adds, “I just don’t want to be alone.”

Hux shakes his head. “It’s not worth it. What I want is to be able to live alone, in power, making decisions for myself and for my people,” he says stubbornly. “And if you are going to be a successful politician, you need to have the same kind of outlook. Stop daydreaming.”

Rey scowls. Somehow, even when her face turns so negative, she still looks beautiful. Hux forces himself to look away; he doesn’t want a spouse, and he certainly doesn’t want to find someone who _isn’t_ his fiancé attractive, because it only complicates things further.

“You’re awfully pessimistic,” Rey observes. She tips her head to the side. “There’s still something you’re not telling me, though. You’re either lying about something, or you’re leaving something out. But you’re not being honest.”

“I don’t have to be honest with you,” Hux snaps. “I’ve told you what I want —”

“And you’ve tried to tell me I’m not allowed to want what I want. So really, you’ve succeeded in being incredibly bitter and rude but what does that get you?” 

Hux stands from his chair. The flames in the fireplace are nearly gone now, and he takes advantage of his height to look down on Rey, the lines of the scowl on his face deeper in the striking shadows of the dwindling fire.

“What you want is naive and foolish. You’re going to be married off to Ren and if you’re lucky, you’ll survive this war.”

Rey stands, doing her very best to meet his gaze; she curses him for being so tall, and wishes she’d bothered to put on the pair of heels that Elizabeth gave her to practice walking in. Hux looks amused at her attempt to be tall and laughs as he shakes his head. Indignantly, Rey says, “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Is there anything to know?” he counters.

All of Rey’s anger disappears, replaced by deep, aching hurt. It’s clear on her features — they _really_ need to work on masking her emotions — but Hux feels no remorse for what he’s said. Rey was a scavenger on Jakku, and now she’s being primed and used to further the First Order’s cause. That’s all she is. 

Beautiful woman or not, Hux needs to remember that.

“You should figure out what you want, or the rest of your life is going to be really, really sad and pathetic,” Rey says angrily before stomping towards the doorway.

“It doesn’t matter,” Hux calls out after her. “We’re pawns in the grand scheme of things. What we want makes no difference, and the sooner you learn that, the better.”

Rey sends him a venomous glare as she turns the corner and leaves the room, leaving him all alone as the flames in the fireplace flicker and then in a puff, dissolve into smoke.


	13. Act I, Chapter XIII: Mountainous Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tallie reflects on the comms message Ben sent her, and her feelings on their journey first as a couple and now, since the divorce. Meanwhile, Ben embraces his voluntary exile to the Juran Mountains, making it his mission to get Rose to loosen up and enjoy the closest thing to a vacation she's likely ever gotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said before, updates will be slower. I appreciate your patience <3 I hope you enjoy this installment!

Coruscant is typically a temperate planet, but it occasionally rains. This particular day, the rain fell in slow, lazy droplets against the many buildings of the city. It created a somber background melody for Tallie, who had opted to stay in her apartment for the day. She just had one meeting, a discussion with Senator Holdo, but had asked to postpone the meeting due to a particularly difficult bout of nausea.

The pregnancy wasn’t the worst it could be, but the doctor she visited had said that she wasn’t exactly having an easy one, either. But Tallie’s mind wasn’t on the pregnancy, she was focused once again on the message Ben had sent to her.

Jessika walks into the apartment to see Tallie watching the projection, just as she’s done on and off for the past several days. 

“You need to put that away.”

Tallie frowns and shuts off the comm, pointedly looking down rather than meeting her attendant’s gaze. Slowly, Jessika crosses the room and takes a seat next to her, gently pulling the comm device away from her.

“Tallie, are you alright?”

There’s no judgment in her voice, but Tallie knows there’s concern there. She’s had difficulty, at times, coping with the divorce, and now that she’s pregnant and her hormones are doing all kinds of odd things, Tallie can’t make sense of what’s going on in her head sometimes. 

Tallie leans back against her sofa, hands absentmindedly tugging and fiddling with the delicate tulle of her dress. It’s a pale pink, accentuating her dark curls as they fall over her shoulders. But the fabric drapes over her stomach in a way it never used to; she runs her hands over the gentle swell of her belly and sighs.

“I miss him,” Tallie confesses.

She blinks in quick succession, trying to ignore the tears springing to her eyes. She doesn’t even want to cry, yet the teardrops gather anyway, like they want to be as free as the rain outside. Jess turns towards Tallie, a gentle, comforting hand on her shoulder. 

“That’s understandable,” Jess says. She’s sympathetic to her plights, though she can’t relate to the emotions she’s feeling. “He was an important person in your life for quite some time.”

“Only two years,” Tallie argues. She tips her head back, willing the tears not to fall. “Not that long.”

Frowning, Jess argues, “But you two went through a lot. Something not many people can relate to going through. That’s a big deal. It’s okay to miss him.”

Tallie sniffles, blinking again to force the tears back. She refuses to cry over him. She’s cried so much over the divorce, and over her fear of raising this baby alone, and because the pressure upon her shoulders will only increase as the election on Chandrila draws nearer. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jess asks hesitantly. “Will it make you feel better?”

She shrugs; truthfully, Tallie has no idea what will make her feel better at this point. “I don’t know what I’d say even if I _did_ talk about it,” confesses Tallie.

Jess pulls her legs up beneath her on the sofa, turning towards Tallie. She rests her head on her hand and asks, “Tell me how it happened.”

“Me and Ben?” Tallie asks, to which Jess nods. “Well… none of the leaders will call it an arranged marriage, but that’s basically what it was.”

“I thought they’d gone out of style?”

Tallie scoffs. She takes a deep breath as another wave of nausea hits her, and then after a long pause, explains, “No, they’re still incredibly common. They just… do them in a way that can trick people into thinking it’s not. That’s what they did with me and Ben. Leia and Holdo, mostly, they decided that Ben and I were supposed to spend some time together and try to make a relationship work. But even if we said it wasn’t, they insisted we try. So… we really, really tried.”

“You two seemed like you were in love, when you married,” Jess confesses.

Frowning, Tallie says, “We got to date, for a little while at least. I think that helped. By the time we were told by the leaders that we were supposed to marry, we were… smitten.”

“Smitten?”

“We weren’t in love… there wasn’t enough of a spark,” Tallie explains. “But we could get along. We knew we weren’t going to be miserable. Being comfortable enough for physical affection helped a lot, too.”

Jess tips her head to the side and says, “Not being miserable is a long way from being happy.”

Tallie nods. She pats the curve of her belly absentmindedly as she speaks. “I know. But it was better than what either of us _could_ have ended up with. We spent time together, we went on dates. Contrary to what some of the leaders think, we had kissed and slept together before our wedding day.”

That surprises Jess, her eyebrows shooting up. “You did?”

“Yes,” Tallie nods. “We wanted to know if it would work. The physical aspects. We’d gotten used to being around each other, but there’s more to a marriage. We’d be expected to have children, and to look like the perfect family to all the people of Alderaan.”

“And it was alright?”

“Good enough that we went ahead with the wedding,” Tallie concedes. “He was always kind to me. He’s gentle and attentive, and even though he can be moody… he’s always mindful not to take those negative emotions out on people he cares for. Believe it or not, he’s got a very big heart.” She turns her head against the back of the sofa to meet Jess’s gaze. “You know what happened from there.”

“I’m sorry you’re missing him,” Jess responds. 

Tallie is quiet. Whether she’s still feeling ill or it’s something else entirely, Jess doesn’t know. She’s patient with her companion, until Tallie sits up on the sofa. “It’ll get easier, I’m sure,” Tallie responds. Then, she looks down at her stomach and smooths her palm over the curve. “Until this one arrives. With my luck, the little one will look just like him and remind me of him every day.”

“You’ll still love them,” Jess reminds her. “You’re going to be a wonderful mother, and you’ll push through.”

Sadly, Tallie smiles at Jess and says, “Yeah, I know.” 

She looks away, to the rain still pattering against the windows.

“I just wish I didn’t have to do it alone.”

——

Being in the Juran Mountains is far more freeing for Ben than he’d ever imagined. Though his pride will never let him admit to his father that this was a good idea, and that somehow, Han Solo had known enough about his son to give him a good suggestion for how to escape the drama and center himself. Han Solo didn’t have good ideas — he just thought about himself.

But when Ben wakes up the first morning, after almost a full night’s sleep, he feels refreshed. He hears the birds chirping outside and the stillness of life away from the hustle and bustle of the city, and instantly things seem a little easier.

He can hear Rose downstairs; she’s determined to clean the ranch and make it look like a place befitting a prince. Ben has his own projects to work on, so rather than bothering her, he chooses to go quietly out the front door as she scrubs at the countertops.

There’s plenty for him to work on, between the porch swing and the falling fence. It’s incredibly freeing, having nothing to do but what he _feels like_ doing. Nothing else in life quite compares to this sort of situation, and Ben is grateful for it — as long as he doesn’t sit and worry about whether Tallie got his comms message. 

Pushing that thought from his mind, Ben scours the yard for some sort of tool he can use to chop down the trees. An axe or saw or some other primitive type of tool that they’d keep at the ranch. 

But then he realizes that the entire time, he’s had the very tool he needs strapped right to his belt. 

His lightsaber.

Not the one Snoke gifted him when he’d dubbed him Kylo Ren, though. No, it’s the one handed down to him from his Uncle Luke, the blue blade bright and striking as the sky on a beautiful day. He hadn’t thought twice, strapping it to his belt before leaving his room in the Royal Palace of Alderaan. 

Thankful for his forward thinking, Ben goes out into the yard, the vast stretches of green hills and trees tucked into the mountainside. In the distance, snow-capped mountaintops point to the smattering of clouds in the sky, no signs of human life anywhere in sight.

There’s something oddly comforting about that.

Using the blade of his lightsaber, Ben easily cuts down a couple of trees, the gentle hiss of the blade and the cracking of the branches as the trees land flat on the ground a satisfying sound in Ben’s ears. It’s physical work — not difficult, thanks to the weightlessness of the blade, and the ease with which he can swing it through the trunks of all the trees — and after chopping down several trees, Ben rolls up the sleeves of his black and red Alderaanian plaid shirt.

He loses himself to the task of chopping the trunks of the trees into smaller pieces — some in oddly shaped logs they can use to stoke a fire inside the fireplace, others in a more refined shape so he can repair the fence. 

Time passes, unbeknownst to Ben, until he’s pulled from his work by someone loudly clearing their throat behind him.

Rose, of course.

He stands and turns, surprised to see her outside. Her cheeks are flushed, but he chalks it up to how much cleaning she’s likely done inside the ranch that morning.

“Hi,” he says, using the bare back of his arm to wipe the sweat from his brow.

Rose looks away, surprisingly at a loss for words. Ben tilts his head to the side and his brow furrows up in confusion; it’s so unlike her to act like this.

“There’s um — food inside,” Rose stammers. 

The corners of Ben’s mouth draw back into a smile and he presses the button, withdrawing the blade of his lightsaber. “Thanks,” he says. “I’m starving.”

“You’ve… chopped a lot of wood,” Rose says, swallowing thickly.

Ben clips the lightsaber to his belt and walks toward the door, seemingly unperturbed by her reaction to what he’d been working on. Rose follows, but doesn’t says a word; Ben only realizes vaguely that this is odd for her. They’re in a new territory, though. Nobody is around to see if Rose acts above her station, if Ben allows it. They both already know that he will.

Regardless of what family they were born into, Ben sees them as equals.

“You didn’t have to cook you — _wow_.”

He pauses in the doorway, looking at the ranch. Every surface seems a few shades brighter, the dull gray of the coating of dust now gone. Rose bumps into Ben when he stops so abruptly, letting out an undignified grunt.

“Rose, this…”

“It’s no big deal,” Rose says, walking around him with a wider berth than entirely necessary.

Ben follows her to the small table and chairs where there’s a small spread set out for them. He’s assuming they’d been sent with some food, but not enough to sustain them for a long amount of time. 

She sits down at the table and immediately begins serving some food for each of them. “You know this is meant to be a break for you, right?” Ben says to her as he takes a seat next to her.

Rose laughs nervously. “My job is to serve you and your family.”

“Well, then I’m demanding you take a vacation. Here. Now,” he counters. “And you have to do what I say.”

Gently, she places a plate of food in front of him. As she does, she scoffs and shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to work.”

“It works however I want it to work. That’s the beauty of being royalty,” Ben argues. “Plus, you’ve already called it a vacation. You can’t take that back.”

Rose eyes Ben strangely as she serves herself a noticeably smaller portion of food than she’d served to him. “Why does this matter so much to you?”

Even though she’s naturally smaller than Ben in basically every way but personality, Rose makes herself look even smaller as she sits in this odd position, one service worker next to the Crown Prince of Alderaan, being told to enjoy her time away from the palace instead of serving, as she’s been trained to do. 

“You work so hard,” Ben answers. “Is it so wrong to want you to enjoy yourself?”

Rose shrugs. “A little.”

“Only because that’s how other royal families do things. You know my parents support you and Paige more than most royals support their help. If either of you decided you wanted to pursue some other dream, they’d let you. Hell, they’d probably write your recommendations,” Ben says.

She raises her eyebrow, disbelieving. “That’s it?”

Their eyes meet, neither reaching for their cutlery yet. Ben’s torn between smirking and growing irritated; he knows what she’s playing at and what she wants him to say. 

“If you don’t take a vacation, I’ll be stuck here with nobody to talk to or anything to do,” Ben says.

“Ah, okay, so it’s all about you,” Rose says with a smirk.

“I — no, that’s —”

She laughs, melodic and beautiful. “It’s okay,” she insists. “You’re a prince. You’re allowed to make it all about you.”

Ben shakes his hair. Some of the dark waves fall in his eyes and he whips them out of his face. When he does, his striking dark eyes meet Rose’s across the table and he says, almost pleadingly, “I don’t want it to be all about me while we’re here.”

Rose raises her eyebrow. “Oh?”

He nods. They’re quiet, gaze locked, until Rose clears her throat and picks up her fork.

They haven’t really addressed the kiss that happened in the hangar, nor what they feel about it now. And by the way Rose has dug into her food, she doesn’t particularly feel like talking about it now. 

He follows her cue and begins to eat, wondering how in the world he’s supposed to convince her to relax and have fun. 

As they eat, Ben looks around the kitchen and the ranch behind her, trying to find something they can do, or talk about, or some way to convince Rose to let herself go and stop serving him for once in her life. She does it in the hangar, on occasion, but she feels duty-bound here, and he can tell she’s trying harder than usual to behave, which is odd considering that there’s nobody there to witness if she doesn’t.

He finishes his food first, noticing that Rose is taking her time. He wonders if she’s able to do that all the time, or if this is something unusual. It’s so stark, all of a sudden, how much he doesn’t know about her. Ben isn’t sure what’s proper to ask, or what will send her retreating even further into her shell of odd behavior. He’d rather pull her out of that and have a good time while they’re away.

Placing his dishes in the sink, he notices a few bottles on the counter that he couldn’t see from where he’d been seated at the table. Taking hold of one around the neck and sliding it towards him, Ben brings the label into view: it’s mulled wine. Not his favorite beverage, but he thinks Rose will like it.

“Are there glasses in one of these cabinets?” he asks, turning his chin towards his shoulder, speaking to Rose.

“Yes. Middle one.”

Ben opens the middle one and sure enough, there’s a variety of glasses just waiting to be filled with the wine. He chooses two wine glasses and sets them on the counter.

Rose approaches now, and she hesitates when she sees what he’s holding. “Wine?”

“Yes,” Ben nods. 

He doesn’t look away from his task of pouring them each a sizeable amount of wine. It’s more than he’d usually drink, but if he’s going to get Rose to loosen up — not even for any malicious or devious reason, just for fun — this may be the way to do it. 

“I’ve never had alcohol before,” Rose confesses.

When he looks over, Ben’s expression is patient. He pauses what he’s doing and notices that she’s not wearing her usual beige jumpsuit. Instead, she’s wearing black trousers and form fitting tee shirt — nothing fancy, but definitely something he’s never seen her in before. She looks nice like this… more relaxed than usual. 

“Just take it slow,” Ben advises. He hands her a glass and takes the other for himself. “Do you want to go sit down?” he asks.

Rose glances over her sofa to the small seating arrangement in the cozy living room of the ranch. There’s no fire in the fireplace yet, but she can already picture its glow. Nodding, Rose begins to walk towards the sofa, butterflies in her stomach. She didn’t understand why Ben wanted her to loosen up and relax so much — did it really matter? She wasn’t royalty, he owed her literally nothing.

He follows Rose and places his glass of wine on the small table next to the sofa. The sun outside was setting, and before long it would be freezing in the little ranch. He had to get a fire going or they’d be miserable. So, Ben sets to work getting the fire going, doing it with an expertise that, quite honestly, surprises Rose. As she watches from her place at one end of the sofa, she takes her first sip of the wine, grateful that he can’t see the way she winces at the heavy flavor and dryness upon her tongue. It’s nothing like she expected.

When he turns to join Rose on the sofa, he notices her glass is emptier than when he’d poured it — she’s tried it already. “What do you think?”

“It’s strong,” Rose comments. She looks down at her glass, and then back up at Ben. “Do you really like this stuff?”

He shrugs. “At this point, I can’t tell if I actually like it, or if I’m just used to it.”

Ben takes a seat next to Rose — right next to her, even though they have the whole sofa on which to spread out — and then takes a sip of the mulled wine. It’s incredibly sweet, more than he expected.

“If you don’t like it, why drink it?”

Again, he shrugs. “The feeling, maybe.”

Rose looks up at Ben coyly. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

He glances back at her, out of the corners of his eyes, and the corner of his mouth ticks up in a smile. “The choice is yours. I’m just… enabling you.”

Rose laughs and shakes her head. “What am I going to do with you, Ben Solo?”

“Drink with me.”

She laughs louder, and Ben smiles. He’s always enjoyed her company, the way he feels like a normal person around her. After what happened in the hangar, he’s found himself wondering if that’s what being attracted to someone feels like — in the back of his head, a voice nags and says no, it’s just what belonging feels like, but maybe it’s both. It felt nothing like his time with Tallie, but there was also no spark.

But the “spark” could just be a myth.

It’s been difficult for him to muddle through his feelings, but in the end Ben came to the conclusion that whatever he felt, he didn’t need to label it. As he sits with Rose on the sofa, sipping wine and watching the fire in the fireplace grow bigger, he finds a certain serenity in that. 

The ranch is drenched in a warm golden glow, as warm as their cheeks as the wine settles into their bloodstream. “This is good. It gets better the more you drink it,” Rose comments.

Ben notices that half the glass is already gone — more than he’s had. He takes a long swig from his own glass and says, “That’s the alcohol. Your taste buds —”

“You don’t need to explain,” Rose says, smiling sweetly up at Ben. She rests her free hand on his thigh and says, “Whatever it is, it’s nice. It feels… weird. But cool.”

“ _You’re_ cool.”

Rose snorts, the wine swirling around in her glass as she laughs in earnest, leaning forward and to the side with it. She brushes against him, and Ben foolishly feels his chest tighten. 

“That was pretty dorky.”

“Hey,” Ben protests. “Be nice.”

Rose looks up at him, still smiling. “Awww, it’s okay,” she comforts mockingly. “Maybe it’s the alcohol.”

Ben glances up at the fire. Before he can stop himself, he says, “No, I say stupid things all the time. Tallie said so, too.”

His words put a screeching halt to the moment, Rose’s smile fading. She looks up at him, as he gazes off at the fire. The flames dance in the dark reflection of his eyes and for a moment, she just stares.

“I didn’t think it was stupid,” Rose says seriously. “It was silly. I don’t get to see you act like that very often. It wasn’t _bad_.”

Ben turns to look at Rose, and he looks brooding, serious. Nothing like he’d looked even five minutes prior. She rubs her hand in what’s meant to be a soothing manner over his thigh. “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” she adds.

He’s quiet, pensive as he looks into her eyes, and swallows past a lump in his throat. Finally, he says something, the thing that’s been on his mind for days.

“When you look at me… what do you see?”

Rose’s brow furrows for a moment, as she wraps her mind around what he’s just asked her. She takes a breath and sets her glass of wine aside. Then, she takes Ben’s glass and does the same. She shifts on the sofa, one leg pulled up onto the cushions so she can face him. Ben turns towards her, as well; he’s not really sure what she’s doing or what’s about to happen, but it feels serious.

She takes his hands in hers, and the touch is electric. He can’t tell if this is going to be good or bad, but keeps quiet, curious as to what she’s going to say.

“Ben, when I see you, I see… a normal guy.”

“No you don’t.”

He says it instantly, the easiest thing in the world.

“Yes, I do,” Rose insists. “I see a guy who maybe feels a bit lost, especially since the divorce. A guy who doesn’t really know what he wants out of life, other than that he doesn’t want his parents to choose it for him.”

She squeezes his hands and looks up into his eyes. Ben feels… better, oddly. She sees him as exactly what he feels like, can read him eerily well. But something about that relaxes him, because nobody else has noticed. They’re too blinded by their own ambitions or duties to bother taking a look at Ben and his feelings.

He brushes his thumbs against the back of Rose’s hands, letting her know he’s listening, that he’s there and just doesn’t know what to say. 

“Now: you’re on vacation,” Rose says, hearkening back to their earlier conversation with a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. “Enjoy it.”

Ben scoffs and shakes his head, unable to stop the laughter threatening to bubble up in him. He’s smiling now, and he can’t figure out why his cheeks feel so warm, whether it’s because of Rose, the fire, or their drinks. 

“This may be the wine talking, but can I kiss you?”

Her question surprises him, but he finds that he’s appreciative of it, as he’d been thinking the same thing but didn’t want to be too forward by asking. 

The answer comes to him easily, in the form of a nod. He releases one of her hands, bringing his own up to cup her face. Rose is eager, almost startlingly so, as she presses her lips to his.

All the hesitation that was there during their first kiss is gone now; Rose seems more confident, more sure of herself.

That may _also_ be the alcohol.

Now that the tension is broken, it’s easier for them, for Rose to forget for a moment that she works for Ben and his family, for Ben to forget that he has so many people he can disappoint.

It doesn’t take long for Rose to completely lose herself in the kisses, in the way Ben’s large hands frame her face, hold her waist as she climbs into his lap. She memorizes the taste of him on her lips, how smooth and soft his hair is under her fingertips. 

The fire crackles behind them, long after they rest back upon the cushions of the sofa, Ben’s strong hands holding Rose in place atop him. They kiss until they’re out of breath, until their lips are as red as the wine they’d been drinking, the glasses half-full and long since abandoned.

Their kisses slow as the fire begins to dwindle, the two of them turned so Rose is safely nestled between Ben’s broad chest and the back cushions of the sofa, both of them on their sides. Ben’s hand is gentle, sliding over Rose’s hip as she grips the front of his plaid shirt in her fist. 

When the moment slows and their kisses end, Ben leans his forehead against Rose’s. It might have been foolish of him, letting things go for as long as they did, but he trusted Rose to speak up when something was more than she was ready for, or more than she was comfortable with. Rose was always outspoken in that way, and he believed she would be with him, regardless of where they were or what they were doing.

She was nice. Beautiful. She understood him in a way that very few other people did. 

“We should get some sleep,” she whispers, her breath coming in warm puffs against his swollen lips.

“We should,” he agrees. 

Ben slides his hand around her hip, settling at the small of her back, pulling her closer to him. “We could sleep here,” he suggests.

Rose laughs softly. “We’re a little squished.”

“I’m quite comfortable, actually.”

She shakes her head and playfully smacks him in the chest. While she is comfortable, she’s confident that by the time morning arrives, Ben will have rolled right onto the floor next to the sofa and she’ll feel guilty for making a prince sleep like a pauper.

“Ben,” she warns.

“Alright, fine,” he concedes. “My bed is big enough for the both of us.”

As the two of them rise from the sofa, Rose eyes Ben with a look of skepticism. She knows it’s foolish to do, to get caught up in all of this because inevitably she’ll get hurt. But it’s one night, the only opportunity she’s ever going to have. And it’s only sleeping.

“Alright,” she agrees, looking up into his eyes. “Just this once.”

He nods, taking her hand to lead her upstairs. 

His voice soft, he echoes, “Just this once.”


	14. Act I, Chapter XIV: Happen Like This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A murder shakes the halls of the Arkan City Estate, bringing to light the kind of strength in the face of adversity is necessary to be a successful leader. Meanwhile, the Knights of Ren may inherit a new member, changing things for the First Order in a very big way.

Hux wakes with a jolt, a bloodcurdling scream echoing throughout the estate. He sits upright in bed, immediately in a panic. His heart begins to pound in his chest and he tosses back the heavy duvet of his bed. Bare feet padding against the stone floor, Hux rushes without a robe into the hallway.

A chill shoots through him at the feel of the cool stone beneath his feet, his silken pajamas soaking up the cool air in the corridors. He shivers, but rushes down to where he knows his mother’s room is. Hair a mess, eyes filled with worry without a care in the world who sees, Hux rushes to the source of the scream.

Hinging his hand on the doorframe, Hux pivots into the massive master suite of the estate to see his mother knelt upon her bed, sobbing. She’s facing Hux’s father, who even from the doorway looks a ghastly pale color. He stops dead in his tracks as several service workers push past him to the bed. 

“Mother?”

Elizabeth sobs uncontrollably into her hands, her usually immaculate hair and dress a rumpled mess. It’s the first time he’s seen her so unkempt in all his life. She doesn’t acknowledge him of course, focused on her sobs, on leaning over her husband and clutching his limp hand. 

Hux feels sickened when he realizes what happened, what it all means. And that it somehow happened beneath their roof while he was just down the hall. 

_It could have been him._

When his mother finally turns to look at him, Hux’s heart breaks. She’s usually so good at keeping her expressions neutral, or as minimal as possible, that it’s astonishing to see just how much emotion her usually dainty features hold. Her skin is blotchy and pink, her eyes are bloodshot, and she looks absolutely devastated.

“Mother…”

She sits back on the bed, her knees pulled to her chest as she leans forward, resting her arms across her knees to bury her face and cry. 

Her husband is dead. A murderer was _right there_. They may even still be in the house. It’s terrifying, and Hux would dwell on it if he wasn’t so concerned for his mother. She never shows emotion and it’s quite frankly _terrifying_ that he is witnessing it now. He hears people behind him — Phasma’s voice is familiar, and he thinks he hears Poe too — but Hux just rushes to the bed to wrap his arms around his mother’s shoulders.

She turns, wrapping an arm around him and sobbing into his shoulder. 

He just sits there holding his mother, too shocked to focus on the environment, on the way there’s police officers flooding in, the way Phasma stands in the doorway watching sadly. Vaguely, Hux hears shouting in the hall, he thinks he hears someone get arrested, but he’s not focusing on that. He’s not focusing on _anything_. 

The more he thinks about it, the more it terrifies him. Because his father’s death means the one thing Hux has always wanted… to be King. But not like this. 

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

He was supposed to have several more decades to learn from his father, to enjoy the slow, luxurious pace of life as a prince before he’d have to make decisions on behalf of an entire planet of people. 

Now, at age twenty-nine, he was facing an arranged marriage _and_ a coronation, all while investigating how in the world someone managed to get into their home and kill his father. There’s no blood, so it was a poison or gas of some sort — something isolated, since it didn’t harm his mother. Whatever it was, it’s terrifying. Hux is rooted to the spot, can think of doing nothing but holding his mother and trying to soothe her, all while fighting through his own emotion.

The sun rises as they sit together on the bed, Brendol’s body already removed by some of the police. Elizabeth sobs, ugly and loud, into Hux’s shoulder. He sits back against the headboard of the luxurious four-poster, but it all feels like it’s for naught; no amount of opulence or comfort can protect them from the evils of the world. There’s nothing safe about it, and they were fools to believe they were safe for even just a moment.

It’s a blur, and Hux doesn’t realize at first that he, too, shed some tears. Not until his mother looks up at him, wiping at his face, looking even more saddened.

She’s never looked more human, more raw and real.

Their tears run out soon after, Hux not shedding many to begin with, but it being a big deal all the same that he’s cried at all. Elizabeth clears her throat and sits up next to her son. She wipes at a damp spot on his cheek and says, “You should… get ready.”

She looks so broken that Hux considers insisting he shouldn’t leave, for her sake. But he nods, allowing her to boss him around without argument. He’s well aware it will help her feel better.

Hux stands from the bed and takes a deep breath; he’s trying not to think about what this means for him, about the responsibilities on his shoulders. He doesn’t know what else to say to his mother, so he turns and leaves.

He feels numb as he walks bare-footed down the corridor, taking slow, steady steps to his bedroom. Phasma stands in the hallway, halfway between where Hux’s mother’s room and the open door to his own, but he doesn’t want to talk to her. Blessedly, she doesn’t try to speak to him; she gives him a comforting touch on the shoulder, but otherwise lets him pass her by.

Almost like a zombie, Hux trudges to his bedroom, eyes unfocused. He’s always resented his father, wished he wasn’t so commanding, wished he wouldn’t take credit for his son’s ideas, but he’d never wish this upon him. Royals have always had the option to retire before death, and that was what Hux was hoping for. It was a foolish hope, of course, one he’d vocalized only once — to Phasma, while spectacularly drunk after her coronation years ago.

Alone in his room, Hux sits down on the edge of his bed. The blankets are still in disarray, just as he’d left them when he sprinted down the hall to see what the scream was about. Something about that is oddly comforting; with all the help around the estate, he’d been expecting to find his bed made when he returned. He’s about to lie down and try to get some sleep — he has nothing else to do that day, and sleep sounds wonderful after sitting up all night with his sobbing mother — but a sound from across the room pulls him from his thoughts.

“Oh.”

He turns at the sound of a voice, shocked to see that he’s not alone. 

It’s Rey, standing timidly by the curtains; the rain slams against the glass of the windows in sheets, the dull grey of the outdoors cloaking Rey in a soft shadow.

“What are you doing here?”

Hux’s voice is hoarse; he almost doesn’t recognize the sound of himself. It’s a strange thing, an out of body experience if he’s ever had one.

Rey stands in her own dressing gown, one not unlike the same one his mother had been wearing. She clutches her hands in front of her, knuckles white with the force of it. In his grief and confusion, Hux would almost say she looked guilty. 

But Rey wasn’t spiteful. She was angry and tough, but only when she had to be. And she’d proven before that she feels… something for Hux. That’s unmistakable. It’s been clear since they met, and he immediately doesn’t think Rey has the capacity to murder someone.

It was someone else — maybe one of their Resistance guests — but not her. She’s too full of innocence.

She’s here to comfort him. Right?

His own wishful thinking disgusts himself, and he immediately pushes those thoughts from his head. 

“Are you alright? I heard what happened and I —”

“I’m fine.”

He turns away from her, his voice curt and taut. He doesn’t want to talk about this. He’d avoided Phasma for the very same reason. But something about Rey is different, and Hux doesn’t particularly feel like kicking her out.

“Hux…” she begins, walking towards him.

Rey perches herself on the bed next to him, foregoing all propriety in order to speak with him, closely and honestly. 

“I’m so sorry.”

Hux looks up. If she’s apologizing… 

“Did you do it?”

Her eyes go wide, and immediately she begins to shake her head. “I tried to stop them from taking Finn and Poe, but —”

“I don’t care.”

He scoffs and looks away. He couldn’t care less if Finn and Poe were arrested, with or without reason. Someone needed to be, and he feels more at ease in his own home knowing the police took suspects out of the estate.

“He’s your _fiancé_.”

“And he could have murdered my father, for all I know. He’d have reason to do so,” Hux says, lashing out more than he expected, even of himself. “Marrying a King rather than a Prince? I’m shocked I hadn’t considered that threat in the first place.”

Rey shakes her head. “No, Hux, I don’t think —”

“Whoever it is, they’re going to pay,” Hux growls. “Father was supposed to leave on _my_ terms. When _I_ was ready to be King. Years from now. He had _years_ left to live…”

He shakes his head and blinks in quick succession. The same emotions he went through with his mother, in the privacy of the room at the end of the hallway, begin to bubble to the surface once more. The last thing he wants is to cry in front of Rey.

“I’m so sorry, Hux.”

Rey drapes her arm around his shoulders, leaning into him to provide him even a modicum of comfort. He doesn’t lean away. 

They sit there together for a few moments, Hux allowing Rey to pass along the comfort of another body by his side, her head on his shoulder and her arms holding him as closely as he’ll allow. Her thumb swirls soothing circles into his shoulder, and she breathes with him. It helps him calm down so much he almost thinks to accuse her of using the Force on him. He can’t fathom why else someone could have that effect on him.

As the storm swirls harder outside, Hux’s blinks grow longer.

“You should go,” he instructs, fighting a yawn. “Find out what you can about Dameron and his attendant. I’d like to sleep a little.”

Rey is reluctant to sit up, but obeys nonetheless. If it’ll help Hux, she’ll do what’s asked of her. With his help, she can rise above her station. Plus, after all those days of serving their family, it’s been hard for her to break that service role.

“Okay,” she agrees.

She drags her hand across his back, her touch lingering on his shoulder as she stands. There are a million things she wants to say to him — reassurances, small comforts — but she doesn’t think he’d appreciate that. He’d feel like he was being coddled, something she knows he’d detest.

Instead of saying anything, Rey slowly exits the room, leaving Hux to lie down on his plush mattress, allowing sleep to take him over.

——

When Hux wakes, there’s yet again someone in the room, but this time it’s Phasma rather than Rey. She’s standing near the window, just as Rey had been, and she’s sipping on a glass of wine as she gazes out the window of his bedroom. The sun is peeking through from behind the grey clouds, an odd contrast to the darkness looming over the estate.

He stirs, rolling onto his side, too tired to sit up and address Phasma properly. She’s one of the few people he allows himself to be this casual around. 

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

She looks very no-nonsense, very different from the sympathetic gaze she’d given him earlier, when he’d been retreating to his room to rest. Something has happened, and she’s not happy with it.

Hux rolls his eyes and pulls his blankets up higher over his shoulders. 

“They’ve taken your fiancé as a suspect in your father’s murder,” Phasma says firmly. “And they’ve taken Fi— his _attendant_ too.”

Her correction doesn’t go unnoticed by Hux, and he scowls. He knows she’d taken Rey and Finn with her to give he and Poe privacy, but hadn’t expected her to get quite so chummy with them. It irritates him, but he’s too exhausted to bother saying a word about it.

With her free hand, Phasma picks up a throw pillow from one of the plush lounge chairs next to her and launches it at Hux. It hits him right in the face, tousling his hair into even more disarray than it already was. 

“What the —”

“Get _up_ ,” Phasma says through angry, gritted teeth. “You’re King now, whether you like it or not, which means you’re going to have to deal with this like an adult. You can’t hide. And the first thing you need to do is get Dameron and his attendant out of their cells in the city.”

Hux sits up, tossing his blankets aside to stand and walk angrily towards her. Phasma steps aside, not willing to play his games. 

“I mean it, Armitage. You are an adult. A King. Whether you’ve been coronated or not, you have many more duties now than you used to. It’s time to grow up.”

He scowls. “You need to give me time.”

“You don’t _get_ time!”

Her voice echoes throughout the room, startling Hux. She very rarely raises her voice at anyone, especially him. And the fact that she’s raising her voice now is unsettling for him. Hux doesn’t appreciate it one bit.

“Our lives don’t make room for time to grieve or mourn. When someone dies, your life becomes infinitely more difficult. I’ve been trying to tell you this for _years_ ,” Phasma explains tersely. “Sitting here moping in bed is not what you should be doing. You need to be strong for your mother, and for your people. Everyone out there,” she gestures to the window, to the expanse of Arkan City, of all of Hux’s people, “is relying on you to step up and reassure them. They’re all mourning, and you don’t get to put your life on hold to do the same. Your job begins _now_ , and your emotions and your wants and desires are all on hold.”

“Phasma —”

“Enough, Hux. Grow up. This is your life now,” she barks. 

He remembers how difficult it had been for her, especially having nobody there to guide her through it because she’d been the first of their generation to rise to the highest level within the monarchy. Her parents had died several years prior and Phasma wasn’t prepared for it, just as Hux wasn’t prepared now.

He opens his mouth to say something more, but before he can, they’re met by someone in the doorway. His mother.

Suddenly, in a frightening one-hundred and eighty degree turn, she looks just as she does on any other day. She’s wearing an elegant gown — black, though, rather than her usual array of pastel colors — and her hair is curled pristinely over her shoulder. The only sign of her mourning save for the color of her dress is the redness in her eyes, only visible up close.

She enters the room and walks directly towards Hux and Phasma. She raises an eyebrow as she looks between them, but Hux’s scowl paired with Phasma’s look of intensity tells her very clearly it’s _not_ what it looks like. 

“Mother,” he says curtly.

“Darling.”

As soon as she says it, Hux knows something’s coming that he’s not going to enjoy. It doesn’t endear him to her, nor does it fill him with anything other than dread. He tries to walk away, towards the window or his bed or _something_ , but Phasma’s hand is strong and pushes back, keeping him in place. He sighs.

“Get dressed,” she instructs.

Usually her words are filled with some sort of emotion. Fake or real, she uses that emotion to convince people to do as she asks. But Hux hears none of that. She sounds stony, broken. Her voice is as hoarse as his. Her usual calmness and dignity is still there, but the veil of grief is clear as day. It’d break Hux’s heart if he wasn’t so up in arms about whatever was going to come from her mouth next.

“You need to address the public. Tonight. Someone is already writing your speech, so you don’t have to worry about that,” she instructs. “You will wear your best clothes, and you will stay strong for your people. They’re a _mess_ , Armitage. They’ve been waiting hours to hear from you already. The whole galaxy has.”

He scoffs. “I doubt the whole _galaxy_ cares what I have to say.”

“They do,” Elizabeth insists. “Process this later. Be strong for your people _now_.”

“Mother —”

Her expression hardens, and she steps toe to toe with her son. She looks up into his eyes, brow furrowed in frustration.

“You _will_ do this,” she says dangerously. “No arguing.”

Hux looks to Phasma, but her expression is clear: she is firmly on Elizabeth’s side on this. He has no choice. He must be strong, and speak to his people regardless of whether he’s ready for it or not.

——

“That was a pretty good speech you gave.”

Hux sits in a plush chair next to his window, watching as the rain comfortingly falls in slow blankets against the damp ground outside. He holds a glass of liquor in his hand and had been sitting in a daze. Half of his black formal suit is off already — the jacket draped over the back of the chair facing him, the top few buttons of his shirt undone. His crown — a Princely one, as he hasn’t been coronated yet — sits haphazardly atop his hair, off-kilter to the left, practically touching his ear. He doesn’t even realize, nor does he care.

When he looks up, he’s shocked to see Poe Dameron standing in the doorway to his bedroom. After their argument the night before, he hadn’t expected to see the man again so soon. Plus —

“I thought you’d been arrested?”

Poe shakes his head. Out of respect, he’s wearing all black, and Hux finds an odd sort of comfort in that. For as much as they hate each other, at least the man will respect the death of a powerful figure in the galaxy. 

“Nope,” he says. “Rey came and told them she’d been with me.” 

Poe stuffs his hands in his pockets as he walks closer. As he comes into the moonlight streaming between rain clouds outside, Poe gets a look at Hux — his stocking feet, his helter-skelter crown, and he holds back a grimace. 

“Ah.”

Poe gently lifts the suit jacket from the chair opposite Hux before settling into the seat. He drapes the jacket over his lap and adds, “Thank you for that, by the way. You didn’t have to ask her to lie for me. I know it puts you both at risk. So…” he trails off, gaze focused on the intricate black embroidery sewn into the black fabric.

He’s so distracted by the up-close details of the jacket that he doesn’t see the way Hux is eyeing him strangely. Hux had never sent Rey to lie to anyone, nor would he understand why she’d go out on a limb for someone like Dameron. She served the First Order, and Hux, and nobody else.

Before Hux can ask any questions, Poe interrupts his thoughts.

“So how are you doing?”

He doesn’t ask if Hux is okay, and for that, Hux is grateful. He’s sick of hearing that question, or hearing people say _I’m sorry_. What he wants is justice, and answers, and more time before he has to take on the role of King.

But Poe’s question is something new, and it shockingly doesn’t irritate him.

Hux looks up, and his eyes meet Poe’s warm brown ones. All he does is shake his head.

Poe looks strained, like being there and being supportive is something he’d rather not be doing. But he offers a little comfort anyway by saying, “That’s okay.”

Curiously, Hux asks, “Why are you here?”

Poe lets out a dry laugh. “Do you want the truth? Or what I’m supposed to tell you?”

His question, and by extension his honesty, tells Hux all he needs to know. Either his mother or Phasma meddled, as per usual. They’d told Poe he had to go comfort him, to try to push them together. It mattered now more than ever that their marriage be successful.

“Alright, I understand,” Hux says, looking away.

Frowning, Poe says, “For what it’s worth, I’d probably have visited you anyway. This is rough.”

Hux rolls his eyes.

“I mean it,” Poe continues. “When I lost my mom…” he shakes his head and brushes his thumb over the soft black fabric of Hux’s jacket. 

He’d looked spectacular when he’d worn it, standing powerfully in front of thousands of residents of Arkan City as he told them the news. He hadn’t looked emotional at all. Armitage Hux had stood tall and proud, just like his mother told him he had to, and he spoke to the people with the perfect amount of emotion, sympathy, and strength. 

“I wouldn’t have been able to speak to people like that,” Poe says, looking up at Hux. “I was a mess.”

“You hadn’t just been made king,” Hux argues.

Poe frowns and says, “No, but my father was off world. If someone had needed to speak immediately… it would have been me.”

Looking up, Hux asks, “Was your father off world a lot?”

“No,” Poe shakes his head. “It was all just really bad timing.”

Hux sighs and pulls the crown off his head. He looks at it, brushing his thumb over the intricate silver bands all woven and melded together. Encrusted with jewels, it’s a smaller version of the crown his father had once worn… the crown he’d inherit when he was coronated as King of Arkanis. Offhandedly, he realizes this crown will belong to his child one day. _Their_ child.

After a beat, Poe speaks up. “C’mon, you need some sleep.”

He stands, draping the embroidered jacket back over the chair as delicately as he’d picked it up. Hux tips back his glass of liquor, downing far more than is decent in one swig. It burns, but he likes the feel of it. He’s reminded that he’s alive, and this is real, and in a few days or weeks — whatever his mother decides, really — he’ll be crowned King.

And he’s not ready for it.

Poe holds out his hand, stubbornly waiting until Hux takes it. Hux eyes his hand and for a moment, contemplates ignoring him and just walking past him. 

But few others have treated him with as much empathy and kindness since his father’s death as Poe has, and Hux is just too emotionally drained to bother being a jerk. Reluctant as he is to admit it, a bit of comfort sounds incredible after the day he’s had.

Hux sighs, sets his glass aside, and tosses his crown like a frisbee until it lands on his jacket where Poe had just been seated. Then, he rests his hand in Poe’s and stands from his chair. It’s in that moment that he realizes just how much he’s had to drink, his head spinning as he stands for the first time since giving his speech.

“Woah, steady,” Poe says, his voice a gentle hum as his free hand rests on Hux’s waist. 

“I’m fine,” Hux mumbles.

Poe looks up at him and sees that he’s very _not_ fine, but definitely lying about it. “Alright,” Poe replies, not wanting to argue. “To the bed, come on.”

It’s a short walk, but Hux is unsteady and Poe is gentle and patient. He guides Hux to the edge of the bed and helps him out of the expensive, historic trousers — the other part of the beautiful suit he’d had to don in order to announce to the entire planet that his father was dead. Hux sits at the edge of the bed, his blinks heavy as Poe toes off his shoes and removes his own black suit. 

He climbs onto the bed, crawling up behind Hux and gently coaxing him fully onto the mattress. Hux goes easily, closing his eyes before his head even hits the pillow. As he takes a deep breath, Poe drapes the quilt over him. In less than twenty-four hours, this man’s life has been turned upside down. When he releases a shaky exhale, Poe wraps an arm around his waist, his front to Hux’s back. 

It may be due to the alcohol, but Hux rests his arm over Poe’s, holding him there, and he closes his eyes as he takes another deep breath. He’s trying to push all his fears and anxieties from his alcohol-riddled brain. The only thing helping him to do that is Poe’s presence, loath as he might be to admit it. He says nothing, just allows Poe’s soothing voice to remind him that it’s okay, and he’s strong enough to get through this, until Hux finally falls asleep right there in his arms.

Across the estate, Rey sits in her own quarters, perched at the end of her bed. 

She wears all black, just as everyone else had for Hux’s speech. Her hair is in loose curls around her shoulders, but for as beautiful as she’d been made up to look at Elizabeth’s insistence, she feels disgusting and dirty. Her stomach has been in knots all day.

She feels a sharp pain at the front of her head and her eyes close as she winces. Her cool fingertips press against her forehead, but the pain doesn’t stop.

Then, she hears his voice.

“You have done well, Young Rey.”

It’s Snoke. His voice is low and gravelly, and his intrusion into her mind is uncomfortable. At least this time, she’d been expecting it.

“With your help, the First Order will form a panel of leadership the galaxy will fear and respect. This was just the first step, and you executed it perfectly.”

Rey’s breathing is shaky as she feels more pulses of pain in her head. He’s not leaving. She doesn’t understand why.

“When Kylo Ren returns to me, I will summon you to my ship. It is time we begin your training. You will join him as a leader of the Knights of Ren.”

As suddenly as the intrusion had come, it was gone. Rey blinks in quick succession, her eyes watering from all the pain. When she looks up, out the window at the sheets of rain falling outside, she takes a deep breath to calm herself. Guilt bubbles within her, at odds with the strong surge of satisfaction she feels knowing she’s pleased Snoke.

She’s making her way up the ranks, and it won’t be long now until she has her independence.

Her goal is finally _finally_ in sight.


	15. Act I, Chapter XV: Sweet Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben and Rose continue their days in Ben's gentle exile in the Juran Mountains on Alderaan. After a long, enjoyable hiking trip, the two find themselves tangled up in each other for a steamy evening alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time to bump that rating up! Yes, this fic is Reylo endgame, but we're not there yet -- time for Ben to enjoy some time with a long-time friend as he explores his new bachelorhood.

Waking up in the mountains is just as novel as the first time. Ben takes his time blinking his eyes open, the sunlight bearing down on the ranch mercilessly. It’s going to be a warm, beautiful day. A bit torturous, but if they could find a stream or lake nearby — there were tons, he was sure — they’d be able to cool off.

_They._

He’d been thinking of he and Rose as a joined pair ever since they got to the ranch, and even more so after they got drunk the night before. Or rather, Rose got drunk, and Ben got pleasingly buzzed, and the two of them made out on the sofa and then spent the night together in his bed. The memories fly back to him, and he looks over to the side of the bed he’d helped her lie down on the night before.

She’s gone.

That jolts him awake, and he sits up in bed curiously. He yawns and rubs his hands at his eyes — he feels incredibly, _shockingly_ well rested, but wonders if perhaps Rose hadn’t experienced the same. 

He rolls out of bed and trudges downstairs, the smell of breakfast greeting him as he descends the stairs. Rose stands in the kitchen, several pans working on the stovetop, looking the same way she did the day before — hair combed perfectly into a ponytail, those curls at her cheeks like always, a fresh white tee to go with her khaki trousers. 

There’s already caf on the table, steam rising from both the mugs. She doesn’t notice Ben until he slides a chair out of his way so he can walk into the kitchen. The sound startles Rose, and she looks over sharply, almost launching their breakfast across the room. 

“Hey, it’s just me,” Ben says, resting a hand gently on her arm as he scoots behind her.

He wants the caf, for sure, but there’s no sweetener to be had on the table, so he needs to get some from the cabinet. 

“I know it’s _you_ ,” Rose responds, laughing a little. “But you were so quiet.”

Ben reaches into the cabinet for the jar he was looking for, and then turns to look at Rose. “I thought we decided this was your vacation. You didn’t need to cook,” he says, swiftly changing the subject.

“Oh please.” Rose laughs for real this time, bright and melodic. “I didn’t know when you were going to wake up. All that snoring?”

“I don’t snore!”

Shaking her head, Rose pulls the pans from the stovetop and scoops the food onto two plates. “No, you don’t… most of the time. It only woke me up once,” she says.

Ben is struck by how easy it is for them to talk after a thing that could have very well made things incredibly weird. They’d crossed into a new territory since arriving at the ranch, and though it was probably unwise because life wouldn’t be the same when they went back to the city. 

But it wasn’t the time to think about that. Now was the time to think about how they moved around each other in the kitchen so well, the way Rose hands him his plate and they step almost like a dance out of the kitchen and over to the table. Their steaming cups of caf are waiting for them, and it’s a companionable silence as they eat.

They scarf down the food and finish off their caf in a record amount of time, chasing away the last ebbs of a hangover as best they can. 

“What are you doing today?”

Ben’s question catches Rose off guard, and she looks up at him curiously. Eyebrow raised, she asks, “What? Cleaning, probably.”

“No. This is your vacation. Besides, this place is clean enough,” Ben argues.

Rose shakes her head. “I haven’t done anything upstairs.”

“And I didn’t even notice,” Ben counters smoothly. “So I think that means you’re going to give in and let this actually be a vacation like you said you would last night —”

“I did not —”

“Rose.”

She hesitates; he doesn’t say her name often, so hearing it on his tongue is something new for her. It makes her chest tighten and her stomach start to twist. She feels the same way when he says her name as she does when he kisses her, and she doesn’t know what to think of that. 

“What did you have in mind?” Rose asks finally.

Ben shrugs. “Let’s go for a hike.”

She glances to the window, and then back at Ben. Her eyebrows have shot up, but she’s not saying no, so Ben thinks he’s still got a chance.

“I mean it,” he continues. “It’s beautiful outside, and what else are we going to do?” He holds up a finger when her mouth opens and cuts her off by saying, “And don’t say clean. We are done with that for now.”

Rose snaps her mouth shut and frowns. His logic is tough to argue with.

“Come for a hike with me today.”

Sighing, Rose nods and agrees, “Alright… fine.”

——

Preparing for the hike doesn’t actually take long; Ben gets dressed as Rose gathers them food and supplies, and she manages to find some rucksacks in one of the upstairs closets she hadn’t yet cleaned.

As soon as they’re outdoors, the fresh air surrounds them as they trek up a long-forgotten trail created by past Alderaanian royals. They’ve owned the ranch for hundreds of years, and it’s a little astonishing to Rose that someone would be able to track their family’s lineage back that far, to use the same homes and corridors that those long-dead ancestors did. 

After they’ve made their way up the steep first edge of the mountain, they come to a level area at the side of it, a wall of stone on one edge and nothing but clouds and a view of the cliffs below them on the other side. Their pathway is wide — as wide as the ranch, at least — with logs and tree trunks criss-crossed over the path. A bad storm must have struck at some point and knocked them all down, covering the direct course from the leveling-off of the trail and the clearing on the other side.

The sun is high in the sky by the time they reach the natural-made obstacle course between them and a comfortable place to rest for lunch, but Ben is nothing if not persistent. Almost immediately, he begins to climb upon the fallen trees, his long legs easily getting him up on the logs and stepping across them.

He loses Rose along the way, her small body not quite so apt at stretching her legs wide from tree to tree. “Ben!” she protests eventually, when he’s almost to the clearing and she’s wobbling about a third of the way across.

Ben turns right away, attentive to Rose and her needs.

She looks both annoyed and stubborn, like she refuses to let him come help her, but would also very much like someone to steady her as she tries to cross just as he had. Ben wanders back, one arm out, hand open so Rose can take it as soon as he’s within reach. 

This time, they cross together, Ben standing dutifully at Rose’s side, holding her hand as he helps her stay steady and cross wide gaps between trees. She furrows her brow and scrunches her mouth as she tries so hard to cross the way without falling. It’s difficult, but she manages. On the other side, now both sweaty and exhausted and looking for some respite from the sun, Ben and Rose settle beneath the shade of some trees that managed to stay standing, and they eat the lunch Rose packed for them in Ben’s rucksack.

It’s delicious — plain cold sandwiches, but something delicious with meat seasoned to perfection — and they have a chance to enjoy the view the entire time. Down below, they can see the Ranch in the distance, the haphazard fence and the dilapidated yard. Further out still, they can see the massive lake they’d flown over in their shuttle the day they’d arrived; everything looks far more beautiful when the sun casts everything in a radiant glow.

They take their time eating, but after they’ve finished, Rose is eager to get back on the trail. Though neither of them know where they’re going, the fact that they’re alone in the mountains with nothing to do and no schedule to stick to means it doesn’t matter if they know where they’re going. Ben’s been remembering the path they take so they can at least retrace their steps back if there’s no alternate route down; but he’s not overthinking it, and it seems that Rose isn’t, either. 

He’s grateful for how well she’s rolled with this; Ben was half-expecting her to dig her heels in and that he’d have to do this hike alone, so he was pleasantly surprised when she joined him without too much argument. 

They reach the crest of the mountain about an hour later, and Rose stands near the peak, a few flecks of snow trailing down the side of the mountain from the tip, dipping up into the clouds. Rose stands close to the edge, holds her arms out, and closes her eyes with a bright smile on her face. The breeze is nice, and Ben just stands off to the side watching her for a minute, observing her reaction to this place.

She looks so at ease, her entire expression relaxed as the wind whips through her trademark curls at her cheeks, flattening her shirt against her every curve, her petite body looking strong and proud as she soaks it all in — the sun, the wind, the flakes of snow falling upon her arms and raising the hair there, prickling up into gooseflesh.

Ben rarely gets to see people happy, so this is a special moment for him, as well. He hasn’t seen anyone quite this happy since the day he and Tallie got married.

“Ben,” she says softly. “Come look.”

“I can see.”

Rose looks down and shakes her head. She extends a hand to him and says, “Not this. Come here.”

He approaches slowly, sure that he’s seen whatever sight it is that Rose wants him to look at, but it’s worth it to acquiesce, to see that smile on her face. She holds his forearm and guides him to stand right next to her, and then points with her free hand as she says, “Look.”

Through the thin fog, Ben can see exactly what she was pointing to — a river flowing down the side of the mountain, the ranch a little speck in the distance, the clearing off to the side where they’d eaten lunch — it’s all there, and it all looks especially majestic as one looks down on it from a cliff. Rose was right. It was definitely worth looking at.

“Thank you for bringing me up here,” Rose says.

Her voice is hushed, as though speaking any louder would disrupt the beauty they’re gazing upon.

“I’m glad you came with me,” Ben replies.

Rose is positively beaming when she looks up at Ben. The effect is instantaneous; he’s smiling right back. “Can we keep going?” she asks eagerly.

He nods, and they continue following the trail, around the peak to the other side where some haphazardly built stone stairs wait for them.

The trek down the mountain is just as spectacular, the views different than those they’d seen on the way up. There’s more of a lake, and there’s the smallest hint of a village on the other side of the lake. When he spots the village, Ben thinks to himself that it’s strange, him not knowing where all his people live. Those people not even aware of their current proximity to the Prince. They may not even know what he looks like.

Rose keeps Ben on track — he wonders if maybe she’s getting hungry, because he most definitely is — and the further they descend the mountainside, the louder the ripples of a river become. Finally, they find themselves faced with that very river, a few rocks scattered across it, presumably so they can cross. 

“Ben…” Rose’s smile has faded now, just as the sun had.

The sky has grown cloudy as they’ve continued on their hike, and it adds a sense of urgency to their walk that Ben hadn’t been anticipating. But this isn’t that. This is Rose looking at how far apart the stones are spaced and wondering how in the world she’s going to cross. Ben isn’t even sure he can make the last one, and he’s got long legs.

“It’ll be fine,” he says.

Ben looks up and down the river, to try to find some alternative route, but he spots nothing. This is their only way across, unless they climb all the way back to the top, and down the way they came. 

Rose shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

He looks at her seriously and says, “I’ll go first. Just follow me.”

She’s frowning, but doesn’t argue with him. She, too, can see that there’s no other way. Ben stands at the bank of the river and looks at the various stones. They only have about four meters to cross, but that’s still a lot, and the river is flowing at a pace that would be too dangerous for either of them to fall into. 

He takes the first few steps, getting about a third of the way, before he pauses and looks back at Rose. “This part isn’t so bad. You can do it,” he encourages.

She looks unsure, but steps onto the first rock. Rose holds her arms out at her sides, keeping her balance, and move to the second. So far, so good. Ben continues across, and Rose follows a few stones behind. She squeaks once, and when Ben whips around to see if she’s okay, thankfully she is. Her arms are waving as though she’d almost lost her balance, but she recovers quickly and insists to Ben that nothing happened, and he should keep going.

So, he does.

The biggest struggle is the final step, from the last rock to the shore. Ben looks at the gap between the two and frowns. If he’s not sure he can cross it, there’s no hope that Rose can do it. But they have to try. 

In the end, Ben has to extend a leg and push himself towards the shore. He lands in a crouch, his back foot hitting the edge of the bank and slipping backwards, knocking dirt and rocks into the rushing river and getting the toe of his boot wet.

“Ben, I can’t do that,” Rose says fearfully.

She’s now standing on the rock he’d just leapt from, and when he stands to face her, he can see the terror on her face. Ben takes a deep breath and looks around, wondering if he can find something to help them get her to the shore safely. There’s only damp branches, and Ben wishes they’d thought to pack some rope or bring a walking stick, if only just to be over-prepared. 

“Here,” he says, extending his hand. He leans over the river, extending his hand to her as best he can.

“No,” Rose says; he hears her voice tremble. “If either of us loses balance, we’ll pull the other in the river and _both_ get swept away.”

Ben shakes his head. “No. I’m here, I’ll pull you over if I have to. Just… take my hand.”

She’s skeptical, but decides that Ben is thinking more clearly than she is, so she’ll trust him with this. Her hand is clammy as she rests it in Ben’s, and he holds her hand with a strong grip; Rose knows immediately that he’s not going to let her get hurt.

“Just… jump over here,” Ben says. “I’ll pull, and I’ll catch you.”

It sounds like the dumbest, most vague plan he’s ever come up with, but they don’t have anything better. Rose looks terrified, and Ben would be lying if he said his heart wasn’t racing just a little bit, at the prospect of Rose getting hurt. There’s no other option: this has to work.

Rose takes a deep breath and squeezes Ben’s hand as she prepares herself to do this. “On the count of three, Rose,” Ben instructs. “You can do this.”

And just like last time, the moment he says her name, Rose can think of nothing but Ben, and trusting him, and believing every word he says. She nods, and Ben begins to count down. 

One, two, three, _jump_.

Rose leaps with all her might, extending a leg towards the bank of the river as she feels Ben pulling her towards shore. The fear and exhilaration bubble up within her and Rose lets out a frightened squeak when her foot just barely touches the bank of the river, the other one missing entirely and landing in the water. “Ben!” she shouts.

“You’re fine,” Ben insists, pulling her forward and using his free hand to grab her around the waist and pull her towards him. 

The moment both of her feet are on steady land, Rose leans against Ben, her arms around his waist as she clings to him. A hug from Rose surprises Ben, but he accepts it without hesitation. His heart is still pounding in his chest; he’d thought she wasn’t going to make it, and that was terrifying. 

“If this path doesn’t lead back to the cabin, let’s just… die in this forest, okay?” Rose says against his chest, only half-joking. “I don’t want to do that again.”

Ben chuckles, rubbing her back soothingly. “Yeah, okay.”

They stand at the bank of the river for a moment longer, catching their breath and returning their heart rate to something a little more normal. Rose relaxes into their embrace, and Ben doesn’t want to interrupt but also, he knows they should keep going. The sky is growing more cloudy and gloomy with each step. 

“Let’s go back. I think we’re almost there,” Ben suggests. “Plus, it’s about to rain.”

Rose looks up at the sky, and then over at Ben. She nods and reluctantly steps away. Smoothly, Ben takes her hand just as he’d done before, only this time he doesn’t let go when they start walking, and neither does Rose. They don’t say a word about it, just continue to descend the mountain hand in hand.

As they walk, the wind picks up and Ben feels a few stray raindrops on his nose and cheeks. Thankfully, the ranch is within sight; they’re almost there. 

Then, it begins to downpour.

Rose shouts as big, cold raindrops pummel down on them, soaking them to the bone in a shockingly short amount of time. “Run!” she shrieks, and she takes off towards the ranch before he can stop her.

So, Ben has to follow. He rushes down the hill behind Rose, not really sure why they’re running to begin with. They’re already soaked; no amount of running can change that, now. It’s cold, sure, but they’d been walking all day. The chill of the raindrops is actually a nice relief against his sore, out of practice limbs. 

“Hurry!” Rose shouts playfully back at him, over her shoulder. 

She’s smiling; Ben can’t keep up with this woman sometimes. 

He runs faster, his boots splashing in the puddles already collecting in the beautiful green grass. Rose waits on the rickety porch near the front door, grinning as she watches Ben sprint to her. She’s out of breath and beaming, and her eyes sparkle as he walks right up to her. 

It’s wrong, he knows, but the moment Rose’s eyes rake down his body, he allows himself to do the same to her. The white shirt is suddenly so wrong, drawing so many new thoughts into Ben’s head. He can see right through the fabric, to her breast band, to the telltale sign through her shirt _and_ the band of just how cold she is.

Rose catches Ben looking her over, but she doesn’t shy away under his gaze. They’re both panting and soaked as their eyes meet, and this time they don’t need alcohol to surge forward, lips connecting frantically. He’s bending over, Rose’s arms around his shoulders, and a thought floats into his mind that he acts on without hesitation. Ben’s large, strong hands slide down her sides, and in one swift move he coaxes her upwards, lifting her under her thighs so she no longer has to stand on her tiptoes.

She wraps her legs around his waist, and he only needs one arm to keep her there, his other hand focused on getting them through the door and out of the chill of the outdoors. 

They’re soaked to the bone, but all they can think about is being close and staying close. Rose’s fingers tangle in Ben’s hair; it’s still silky soft, even when wet. “Hold on,” he whispers against her mouth.

She kisses him still, her arms around his shoulders and legs around his waist as he climbs the stairs. Tauntingly, Rose peppers kisses from his lips to his jawline, covered in the lightest hints of scruff. She loves the way it feels against her lips, and memorizes the low sounds it pulls from Ben. “You… _tease_ ,” Ben grunts as he gets them to the top of the stairs.

He presses her to the wall opposite the stairs, Rose gasping at the way she feels trapped in the best way between the wall and Ben. Her heart is pounding in her chest, echoing in her ears, so loud that she swears Ben can hear it, too. Rather than speaking, Rose responds by kissing him again, both hands drifting into his hair and tugging just a little. He growls, moving his mouth to her neck, almost like payback.

Rose would point that out, but all words are lost on her tongue the moment his mouth finds just the right spot on her neck. His scruff and his smooth lips are perfect opposites, sending heat pooling deep in her belly. She feels like she’s standing on the cliff at the top of a mountain all over again — breathless, exhilarated, a little afraid. But Ben is there with her, and he’s strong and protective. She trusts him unequivocally.

And she knows what happens next.

It takes her a moment to really focus, because Ben’s mouth is sinful and doing very distracting things against her neck, but she finds the hem of his shirt through it all. Tugging upwards, she draws Ben’s attention to what she wants, and their eyes meet. She drops the shirt haphazardly on the floor and swallows past a lump in her throat. The moment slows considerably, and for a brief moment Rose fears that Ben is going to put an end to this right now.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he just asks her one question, his voice husky and low. “Are you sure?”

Rose’s hands frame his face, and she takes that moment to really think it over. But there’s not much to consider, not really, because this is Ben, and she trusts him with her life, and she may never get an opportunity like this ever again in her life.

“Yes,” she nods.

She drifts her hands from his cheeks to his hair, pulling him in for another kiss. Desperate for that frantic rush they’d had earlier, Rose deepens the kiss right away, fingers knotting in his hair. A pulse of desire shoots down her spine as Ben’s warm hand drifts beneath the damp fabric of her shirt, drifting over her hip, his hand large enough that his thumb brushes along her stomach as he does, close enough to the waistband of her trousers that she momentarily forgets how to think.

Faster than she can really think about it, he’s pulling her shirt off and tossing it to the floor to join his own. She revels at the feeling of his bare skin against hers, his body warming hers at every point of contact. It amazes her, that the more they strip down, the warmer she gets. It’s counterintuitive, but Ben is warm, warmer than she’d expected, and she knows that she herself is flushed from head to toe. She can feel it, is hyper-aware of it as he looks at her body as each article of clothing is removed. 

It doesn’t take long for her breast band and trousers to fall to the floor, along with his own damp clothing. There’s little left to separate their bodies, Rose already more exposed to Ben than she’s ever been to anyone else in her life. He’s still holding her up, carrying her now into his bedroom without a second thought, and Rose is happily along for the ride, peppering more kisses on his cheekbones, his jaw, his neck. He nearly drops her when her lips brush his earlobe, and Rose beams at the discovery. 

Ben rests Rose onto the mattress far more gently than the moment would have called for, but it puts a sense of calm into Rose and she smiles when their eyes meet. One of Ben’s hands slides over her hip, brushing over the waistband of her underwear. She doesn’t stop him, doesn’t shy away from his touch. She’s lost in the moment, totally and wholly trusting Ben.

He takes her by surprise when he drifts down the bed as he removes her underwear, tossing them to the side. Their eyes meet as Rose looks down, cheeks flushed and lower lip caught between her teeth as he looks at her, _really_ looks at her, from head to toe. Licking his lips, Ben gently coaxes her legs open, hands caressing up and down and prickling her skin with gooseflesh. His eyes dart to the neat thatch of dark hair between her legs, a hint of wetness evident already. 

Leaning over the bed, Ben presses a gentle kiss to Rose’s stomach, drifting his lips lower and lower until his face is between her legs. She can feel the warmth of his breath against her, desire pooling deep within her, the wetness between her legs at the feeling and the anticipation for what comes next.

If Rose thought his mouth did wonderful things against her neck, it’s nothing compared to how it feels when he tastes her for the first time, licking slowly, torturously against her folds. She shudders, a moan escaping her lips right away. Rose drops a hand to his hair, clutching and squeezing. Tugging his hair seems to only fuel Ben on further, as he seems to double his efforts at the touch. 

It’s a sensation unlike anything else Rose has ever felt, and one she’s acutely aware she may never feel again. She sees stars behind her eyelids, her body warm and pliant as Ben tortures her with his tongue, with his lips. It’s dizzying, the effect he can have on her. She’s so caught up in it that she barely winces when she feels him slipping a finger inside her as he continues to tease her with his tongue. The intrusion is uncomfortable, but welcome, the very thing she’d been anticipating since the kiss out on the porch. 

One finger becomes two, and Rose loses herself in the sensations for a moment. She’s known for a while that he’s got large hands, but feeling him inside of her… she hadn’t been prepared. Nobody would be. 

She’s brought back to reality when Ben shifts and she looks down; he’s got one hand drifted down between his body and the mattress, and she realizes what he must be doing. “B-Ben,” she says, trying to keep her focus as he crooks two fingers inside of her, causing her head to spin.

He looks up, but doesn’t scoot away, leaves his mouth and hands exactly where they are. “I…,” she pants, “Ben…”

Ben leans away just enough to urge her, “Say it.”

The words she’s been thinking in her head for days, weeks even, bubble to the surface. She’s caught up in the moment, intoxicated by Ben and his kisses and touches. Rose utters the words before she even has a chance to second-guess them.

“I want you.”

That’s all Ben needs to hear before he’s climbing up the bed, one hand drifting sinfully slow up Rose’s leg as she hooks it around his waist. Their eyes meet, and neither of them shies away from what comes next. It’s been a long time coming, years of private moments and stolen glances in the hangar now culminating at the ranch as the rain pounds down on the roof above them, against the glass windows of the room. It’s the perfect soundtrack, and Rose commits it to memory along with everything else she can possibly absorb in the moment. This will never, ever happen again.

Ben is gentle as he lines himself up, moving with slow care as Rose hisses, her breath caught as he slides inside of her. He’s bigger than she’d been expecting, and the stretch is a lot. But he’s been so gentle with her, and there was only so much they could do to make this comfortable. Rose is grateful for every care he’s taken, for her.

His lips press lazy, sweet kisses against her neck and collarbone. He’s being impossibly slow, so slow it must be absolute torture for him, but she’s grateful all the same. One arm around his shoulders, Rose turns her head and meets his lips with hers for a slow kiss. His lips taste different now, the distinct taste of _her_ on his lips, and the thought makes her gut twist strangely; she hadn’t expected to like that.

Ben takes his time easing her into a rhythm, watching as the discomfort on her face ebbs away into pleasure, the same look she’d had on her face earlier. His long, damp hair falls in her face as they kiss, as he leans his forehead to hers and foregoes kissing to focus on Rose, on making her feel good.

She can’t focus on any one thing as he rocks his hips, her head spinning when he hits just the right angle inside of her. It’s so much — almost too much — and her body inches closer and closer to release without ever getting close enough. It’s the cruelest, sweetest torture, and Rose isn’t sure what to do to _fix_ it. 

Almost as though he could read her mind — and maybe he did, since he can use the Force and all that — Ben reaches between them to rest a hand upon her hip. His thumb dips down, swirling around her clit, and the change is immediate. A choked moan escapes her lips, the least sexy sound she’s probably ever made, but it doesn’t stop Ben from continuing. “Rose, I’m…” he mutters.

He’s breathing heavily, as is she, but for as much as she’s feeling, she’s not sure she can come with him, if she’ll get there. But he’s trying so hard, and she wants to feel it, wants to know what it’s like to have an orgasm with someone else, because she’s _with_ someone for the first and quite possibly the last time. She nods, not wanting to deprive Ben of this.

“You first,” he whispers. “I don’t — we don’t —”

They have no protection, no way to prevent her getting pregnant, and Ben doesn’t need that added complication in his life. With a surge of courage, Rose reaches down between them, replacing Ben’s thumb with her own fingers, touching herself as he continues to rock into her, the two of them working together to draw her to orgasm.

The moment his mouth finds her pulse point and his teeth graze the perfect spot, she sees stars. She doesn’t even have a chance to utter a warning to Ben before she comes. Tipping her head back against the pillow, Rose’s whole body trembles, clenching impossibly tight around Ben as he slows his thrusts, drawing her through it until he can’t any longer. Still riding out the last waves of her orgasm, Rose feels suddenly empty as Ben pulls out, a new dampness upon her stomach as he comes just after her, moaning into the warm crook of her neck. 

Rose feels like a mess — a beautiful, wonderful mess — as Ben rolls off of her. He’s lying unabashedly on his back upon the blankets of his bed, sweat and rain covering his whole body in a soft sheen of moisture. He looks handsome as always, his hand lazily holding hers as they lie there next to each other, bare naked.

She takes a deep breath, her mind slowly settling back to reality. Glancing over to Ben, she sees that his eyes are closed, his breathing already evening out. He’s fallen asleep before they could talk about this, before they could work through what it means. The more Rose comes back to their situation, the paths their lives must take, the more her smile fades. 

He was meant to come here to clear his head and move past the divorce, the baby, the weird moment with Rey at the wedding. Ben wasn’t supposed to go to the mountains to get wrapped up with one of the service workers. This is all wrong. It’ll hurt him more than it’ll ever help him.

Slowly, Rose climbs from the bed and tiptoes into the fresher. Ben doesn’t move an inch. She cleans herself up, doing a quick scrub down with a rag. Looking at herself in the mirror, she thinks to herself that she doesn’t look any different, doesn’t feel any different, having just shared her first time with Ben. But things have changed. 

She retreats to her own room and dresses in fresh clothes before she pulls her comms device from her trousers, still damp and lying on the floor of the hallway. As she does, she gathers up all their damp clothes to give them a washing downstairs. She has to get back to work. She’s already relaxed for too long.

Downstairs, in the small corner of the home closest to a comms satellite — the only place on the ranch where they can make calls with the devices — Rose dials her sister. 

As soon as Paige answers, Rose blurts out the words echoing in her mind. 

“I think I’ve made a huge mistake.”


	16. Act I, Chapter XVI: A Change in Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux joins all of Arkanis in mourning the death of his father. Afterwards, Rey, Poe, and Phasma all take their turn trying to console Hux after a difficult day, with mixed results. And of course, Hux's mother meddles, as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAJOR thank you to @DarkLondonArt (Twitter) for this beautiful [commissioned art piece](https://twitter.com/DarkLondonArt/status/1165684090324049921?s=20) of a scene from this particular chapter. What an excellent motivator to get this chapter posted!
> 
> Thank you for reading; act I will be completed in just a few chapters, so stay tuned!

It had been many years since Hux had attended a funeral procession. At least the last time, he’d been young enough that tears were merited, almost expected of him. But now, as his father was carried through the town, an open casket for all the people of Arkanis who came to Arkan City to say farewell to their King, Hux had to hold strong. Hux walked next to his mother, both the picture of dignity and pride as they held their chins high but wore matching morose expressions.

They had to be strong for their people. Hux couldn’t be seen as emotional, or his strength as King would be called to question.

Shockingly, though their relationship was all a farce Hux was partaking in due solely to the fact that it would benefit the First Order, having Poe Dameron follow behind him in the procession was a comfort. It was exhausting, performing for his people day in and day out as he reassured them that everything on Arkanis was in good hands, and they’d be well cared for.

Once the casket was carried through the city, he was brought to the mausoleum. Hux cursed the weather; he’d rather it was raining, at least then he’d be able to use a rain shield to shroud his face, even a little. But no; the sun was shining — one of the few times it had appeared all season — and instead of masking himself, Hux was almost positive his nose and cheeks had been tinted pink by the sun.

There was the usual ceremony as Brendol was interred, and then Hux and his mother, followed by their guests, retreated back to the Arkan City Estate.

Almost immediately after the doors are closed behind them, all the shouts and cries of the public _finally_ drowned out, Hux’s shoulders slump and he closes his eyes. He can breathe, and he can frown, and he can let the weight of his impending coronation weigh on him.

Knowing it was coming was one thing, but having his mother turn on her heel and almost immediately begin planning said coronation is more than he could bear. 

“Mother — not now.”

“But Armitage,” she begins, her tone condescending and annoyingly kind.

Hux glares at her. “At least give me a few days. Let it wait until after the wedding.”

She opens her mouth, annoyed, but suddenly her expression changes and the smallest of smiles appears upon her face. “So you’re finally acknowledging that a wedding will happen?” she asks optimistically. “It’s taken you long enough.”

“ _Mother_.”

Before she can say another word, he begins to walk away. He is not in the mood for this kind of conversation, or any conversation for that matter. His leather boots tap on the stone floors, echoing throughout the massive corridors. Immediately, Poe takes off after Hux.

Hux hears someone behind him, but doesn’t particularly care who it is — he’s going to dismiss them no matter what. 

He rounds the corner and continues his walk to his quarters until finally he reaches the doorway. The sunlight is still streaming in through the massive windows, and he’s angry at the weather, and his father, and his mother, and the police. He’s seething, nearly shaking with the frustration he feels. 

“Hey.”

Dameron’s voice is gentle, irritatingly so, and Hux doesn’t hesitate to glare over his shoulder at the man.

Poe stops, standing just inside the doorway, looking devastatingly sad. That just bothers Hux even more. He looks back at the window before stalking angrily towards it, trying his best to fling the curtains over the stupid streams of sunlight. But Arkanisian design means the curtains are translucent, and there’s little to no change. It just makes him even angrier.

In a fit of rage, he pulls off his suit jacket and tosses it at his chaise.

The frustration is mounting within him, driving Hux mad. He stalks across the room, nearer to his closet, and tugs his tie off as he does so. The knot gets tangled, and Hux growls as he tugs harder and harder at it. 

“Hux, hey, stop.”

Poe shuffles over to him, reaching out to try to stop Hux from damaging the tie. If the Hux family is anything like the other royals Poe knows, the suit is just one of many things he’s inherited, an heirloom from his father or grandfather. Though he may not care right now, chances are Hux would be in an even worse state if he ruined something so special to their family.

Poe’s hands are warm and gentle as he bats Hux’s hands away and begins to detangle the knot. As he does, he says softly, “Look… I know you don’t like me all that much, and I’m just one more thing going wrong in your life right now, but… let me help. Just for a little bit. You gotta have some way to get through this.”

“I can get through this on my own.”

Hux is too consumed by his grief and anger to care at all about whether he’s playing the part of the doting fiancé, convincing Dameron to love him and trust him. He’ll worry about that another day. For now, he’s going to be stubborn and irritating, and he’s not going to have any regrets about it.

“Don’t do that,” Poe says, looking up into Hux’s eyes. He’s so earnest, Hux wants to scream. “Take it from someone who knows, you shouldn’t do this alone.”

Hux’s gaze hardens and he narrows his eyes at Poe. Pushing his hands away from him, Hux replies, “I don’t need your pity.”

“ _Kriff_ , Hux. It’s not pity, it’s empathy. I’ve been there,” Poe persists, frowning. “C’mon. Let me in. You did the other night.”

Shaking his head, Hux responds, “That was a moment of weakness and will not be repeated.”

His words sting, and Poe visibly flinches when he hears them. Deep in his gut, Hux feels the faintest twinge of guilt, but he can’t be bothered to think on that. He’s deep in mourning, and nothing Poe says or does is going to change that.

“You shouldn’t go through this alone.”

“Stop that,” Hux admonishes.

His gaze is intense, makes Poe falter ever so slightly. He’s never seen Hux direct quite this much vehemence and intensity at him in particular, and it stuns him to the spot. 

“I will mourn however I see fit. And I will not apologize for not yet being comfortable with baring my soul to you. We’re barely acquaintances at this point,” Hux instructs firmly.

Poe’s brow furrows up and he responds with a question that irritates Hux to no end. “Aren’t you the one who was saying we need to try harder at this? Trust and let each other in?”

“Things are different now and you know it,” Hux admonishes. “It’s one thing to allow for pleasantries and conversation. It’s entirely another for me to openly mourn my father in front of essentially a perfect stranger.”

“I am not —”

There’s a knock on the doorframe, interrupting their conversation. Hux looks up over Poe’s shoulder as Poe turns to see who it is. In the doorway stands Phasma, looking completely unsurprised to see that the two are having premarital problems. She offers a knowing smile and says, “Prince Dameron, I believe your attendant is looking for you. That endeavor will be far more fruitful than attempting to get your fiancé to admit that he has feelings.”

“I have —”

“They’re letting Finn go?” Poe asks hopefully. 

His entire expression brightens, and Hux most definitely notices the way that Dameron’s joy mirrors Phasma’s. Smiling, she nods and says, “The police are delivering him to the main entrance of the Estate as we speak. I’m sure he’ll be pleased to see you.”

Poe looks over his shoulder at Hux, and then back to Phasma. “D’you think you can crack him?” he asks, speaking as though Hux isn’t even in the room.

She looks up at Hux and responds to Poe, “I’m not sure, but I’m almost positive I’ll have more success than you.” She turns her gaze back to Poe. “Don’t take it personally. He’s quite the prick when he wants to be.”

Sparing one last glance over his shoulder to Hux, Poe nods before walking eagerly out of the room. That leaves Hux alone, Phasma standing in the doorway, the expression clear on her face: she is not letting Hux get away with bottling up his emotions. 

Annoyed, Hux wanders to his drink cart near the window, still cursing the sunlight as he does. Though dark clouds are finally, _finally_ rolling in, the sun was present long enough to warm all the liquors, making most a temperature which Hux is not willing to drink. Only the mead will do. He pours himself some but foregoes serving some to Phasma; the day has been taxing and the last thing he wants to do is converse with anyone, even her.

She follows, but doesn’t ask for a drink. Phasma allows Hux a wide berth, but uses her words to encroach upon him instead.

“I see you’re coping well.”

Her statement is met only with a glare, so Phasma takes that as her cue to continue.

“I know you may hate him, and you likely aren’t feeling up for your whole charade of attraction, but he is trying. That was the goal all along.”

Hux sits dramatically in the plush chaise by the window, the deep emerald green a beautiful complement to the black of his suit and his fiery red hair. “Really? One fuck with his attendant and you’re on his side?” he says derisively. 

That, it seems, is enough to turn even Phasma sour. Scowling, she responds, “Careful. You haven’t got many friends to chase away to begin with.”

Boredly, Hux glances over. “So I was correct? You fucked my fiancé’s servant?”

“He’s not a servant,” Phasma responds. “But yes, we found conversation to be quite easy. I do anticipate seeing him again.”

“Of course you will,” Hux responds, rolling his eyes. “When he serves Dameron at the coronation, the wedding, the rest of our lives… the list goes on.”

Phasma smiles. “I meant without Dameron.”

“Really?” he asks, sounding annoyed. “Of all the men in the galaxy, you choose _him_?”

Her smile grows. “He’s strong. Tall. He’s got a good heart.”

“He’s naive and sheltered,” Hux snaps, hoping his words pull Phasma out of whatever dreamland he’s brought her to in the past few days. “You’ll eat him alive.”

She shrugs. “Well, at least I don’t have to pretend to like him,” she replies. “You’ll want to be careful, by the way. Don’t drop the charade too much or you’ll never recover from this. What do you think the Supreme Leader will do if you can’t execute something as simple as making some poor Resistance nerf-herder fall for you to trade secrets? It’s quite possibly the easiest plan he’s concocted in years.”

Hux slumps a little more on his chaise, his shirt rumpling as he does. He looks thoroughly over the conversation, unlikely to say much of anything else. He even gazes out the window as the first raindrops begin to fall from the sky. Finally, something is back to normal: it’s raining on Arkanis. 

“You’ve got a shot at something good,” Phasma says, her voice softer now. “Don’t be insufferable and chase it away just because you can. You’re about to get a whole lot lonelier very quickly.”

With that, she leaves, Hux abandoned in his room with his thoughts. As he reclines on the chaise, he sips at his mead and tries to push her words from his mind. He doesn’t need people to lecture him on what he has and doesn’t have — he just wants time to mourn. Hux closes his eyes for a moment, leaning his head back against his chaise. 

The exhaustion pulls him half to sleep; he jostles awake as he spills mead on his shirt, waking him with a sharp curse. As he slams it down on the side-table, the stem cracks but he pays it no mind. Instead, he stands and busies himself with removing the soft gray shirt he’d worn beneath his suit jacket. Thankfully it wasn’t an heirloom; the mead has stained it crimson and he’s sure no amount of scrubbing will wash that color out. 

He wipes a few drops from the green velour of his chaise where he’d been lounging. Thankfully, the furniture hasn’t been damaged.

As he stands in his room, mead-soaked shirt in his hand and a chill upon his bare, pale skin, he wonders if a second shower would be too extravagant — or even better, a bath. It’s just what he needs after a day such as today; burying his father hadn’t been easy.

Before he can make a decision, he hears someone clear their throat behind him. Without thinking of covering himself, Hux turns around and looks to see who’s chosen to intrude this time.

In the doorway stands Rey.

She’s still in the mourning outfit she’d worn to the funeral; a dress loaned to her by his mother, a beautiful black gown with a cinched waistline adorned with small golden beading and long, draping sleeves. Her hair is in low curls, framing her face beautifully, just a few strands of hair tied back by a small golden clip at the back of her head. The only bit of her outfit from earlier that she isn’t wearing is the veil.

Though Rey is still the help, part of her lessons include appearing as royalty in public. There have been very few questions about the matter, and to be honest, Hux quite likes that his mother is distracted with training Rey, and that Rey looks so exquisite in every dress given to her. 

“I can… go.”

She gestures over her shoulder, but the coloring on her cheeks is unmistakable, even in the soft, rain-cloaked veil of dusk. 

“It’s fine,” Hux says, shaking his head. “Just a spill.”

Rey takes a step closer. “I can go get something to clean it with?” she offers.

With a dry laugh, Hux shakes his head and holds up the shirt in his hands. “Already did it.”

“Oh.”

Rey looks concerned for a moment, or perhaps disappointed. She avoids his gaze now, as she stands nearer to him.

Hux doesn’t understand why she’s averting her gaze; it’s not as though he’s anything to look at. He knows the men who exist in the world, those whose skin is sun-kissed and warm, those whose muscles are strong enough to defend their partners in any battle, those whose intelligence spans all disciplines. He’s freckled and pale; strong and lithe, but not in a way that most of the galaxy sees as conventionally attractive.

But she’s modest enough to look away, so he supposes he can be a gentleman and at least make an effort to cover up. Hux pulls on the suit jacket he’d worn earlier, this time with no shirt underneath, so just the line from his neck to his belt is exposed.

“Did mother send you here for something?”

Rey clears her throat and looks up at him, finally meeting his eyes. She nods and confesses, “I’m here to see if you’re hungry, and for what. The kitchen will make you anything you want.”

Hux sighs. “I’m not a child,” he rolls his eyes.

Frowning, Rey says, “Oh. I’m… sorry.”

“You can also tell Mother she doesn’t need to coddle me,” Hux instructs. “I’m a kriffing _king_.”

This time, Rey’s the one who sighs and looks away. She walks towards the window and looks out at the rain. As she stands there, she reaches over, pressing a button on the control panel to light the lamps in Hux’s room. Dusk has settled upon them; they could use the soft golden glow to illuminate his chambers.

“Your mother didn’t suggest anything. I haven’t seen her since the funeral. I came up here to ask you what you’re hungry for all on my own. I’m the _help_ , remember?” Rey says. “I don’t have a lot of power, but the kitchen is one place where I’m actually respected.

Her eyes are narrowed and her gaze is hard when she looks over her shoulder at him. “They all warned me you were being a pain, but I hadn’t realized you were doing it without being provoked,” she says. 

The hurt is clear in her voice, and Hux actually feels a twinge of guilt. 

She turns back to the window and opens the double doors. They’re the old traditional ones, the kind you have to open with a handle. Most in the Estate are wooden, but the ones in Hux’s room are special; carved with beautiful, intricate paisley patterns, gilded and still glimmering years later. Pulling the doors open, Rey is immediately met with the scent of rain; it’s strong and soothing, still something novel and fresh since moving to Arkanis. 

Her heart still aches for Jakku, for the future she’ll never have there and the fact that her parents would never, ever find her. But her life on Arkanis is affording her opportunities that day in and day out, she tries to remind herself that her parents would want her to take. 

But her mind isn’t on the political or social opportunities that lay ahead, or on the inevitable Force training she faces someday, when the Supreme Leader bids it. No, her mind is only on what that rain will feel like on her skin. She’s wondered every time it’s rained since she arrived on the planet. 

Rey extends her arm and pulls her sleeve up around her elbow, finally reaching out to feel the patter of cool raindrops against her palm. She looks down at the ground, at the line between the wet balcony and the dry, contemplating whether she should step out into it. Desperately, Rey wants to do it, wants to feel the soak of the rain in her dress and her skin, have the smell of rain stick to her skin for days.

Hux isn’t telling her to stop, so Rey takes it as a sign to go right ahead. She grips the front of her dress and lifts it out of the way of her feet as she steps onto the balcony. Right away she feels a chill in her bones; the cool droplets hit her haphazardly, one on her nose, more on her arms, a few slide down her collarbone and beneath the hem of her dress. Her curls grow limp, and she blinks as rain clings to her lashes, blurring her vision.

She can’t stop smiling, and is so caught up in how freeing the moment is. 

“You’re going to catch a chill.”

Rey looks up at Hux as he stands in the doorway, illuminated by the golden glow of the lamps in his room. His tousled hair is more vibrant this way, his exposed skin a gentle, smooth paleness that looks absolutely flawless beneath the black suit jacket. It’s the least put-together she’s probably ever seen him, and as the rain patters down on her, she feels a twist in her gut.

“I’ve never stood in the rain before,” she confesses. “I wanted to know what it felt like.”

He nods and offers her his hand. “And now you have. Come in before you get sick.”

Rey tips her head to the side. “That’s possible?”

“That’s not the point.”

Rey looks at his hand, and then back up at Hux. She moves hesitantly, but obliges. But the moment her skin touches his, she takes hold and pulls, unceremoniously yanking him out into the rain with her.

He lets out an embarrassing yelp, which draws a beautiful laugh from Rey.

Hux opens his mouth as though to say actual words, but when Rey beams up at him, her bright, wide smile startlingly beautiful in the dull grey of the rain. She’s drenched, and he’s slowly becoming so, too, but Rey is life and light. She’s breathing excitement and something fresh into such a terrible, dark day. He’s positively stunned by her.

Whether it’s the emotion of the day, the rain, or something else entirely, he can’t hold back any longer. Rey brings both hands to frame his face and glows as he leans forward, his nose bumping hers in warning before their lips meet. Hux holds her waist with one chilled hand and grips her forearm with the other, holding her against him. He’s kissing her. _They’re kissing._ And it feels _amazing_.

She pulls him closer still, his body warm against her, Rey only vaguely registering that his bare skin is touching the bodice of her dress. Hux’s fingers tangle in her hair as he tips his head to the side, finding a more comfortable angle for the both of them. The kiss is heated, almost frantic, and Rey’s breath is trapped somewhere in her lungs, unable to get out. She gasps between kisses, more in favor of his lips against her own than finding air to breathe. He tastes sweet like the mead he’d been drinking, and he smells like the cologne he always wears, even as the scent of rain swirls around them.

The rain falls in sheets now, heavier and more relentless. Thunder booms overhead and it’s time they went inside — Rey knows it, can tell that they’ve reached that turning point — but she’ll kiss him as long as he allows because she knows this is wrong, and they shouldn’t, and they must stop.

But her heart is pounding too fast, and her head is spinning with adrenaline and lack of air, and all she can think about is how warm his skin is as she drifts her hand against his bare torso, melting against him, soaking up the heat beneath his jacket. And he lets her — she doesn’t understand why, but he does — and she feels his tongue dart out ever so gently against her lower lip.

Lightning cracks dangerously close, frightening them and abruptly breaking the kiss. Glancing out over the balcony, they see a tree fall in the middle distance — the storm is overhead now. “We have to get inside,” Hux says.

She feels his breath in warm puffs near her forehead.

This time, Rey doesn’t fight it. 

He takes her hand and leads her into his quarters, closing the doors behind them. Rey’s gown is a tedious extra weight on her body, and Hux doesn’t let her stand in one place for long. He leads her all the way to the fresher before he spins her around, fingers working at the intricate strings and buttons along the back of it. 

“Hux, I —”

“I’m not going to undress you,” he says. His tone is all business again, and it’s clear that what was happening on the balcony has come to a sudden, irreversible stop. “But you’ll never get out of this on your own.”

He goes to his closet to find an old bathrobe of his; he owns at least a dozen, some more worn than others. He doesn’t choose the oldest one, as it’s still quite comfortable, but instead chooses one he thinks would look nice on her. One he doesn’t mind parting with.

Hux returns to the fresher with the soft blue-grey robe and offers it to Rey. She takes it, and soon the door closes so that she can change. Hux busies himself with changing out of his own drenched clothing and into some warm flannel pajamas, and surmises it’s much easier than the task Rey has been met with.

She emerges moments later, looking as beautiful as ever. Hux has to look away. He crosses the room to the door, opening it. “You’ll want to get back to your quarters, or near a fire. You’ll catch a chill if you don’t,” he instructs.

“But the dress —” she protests.

“You can get it in the morning, when you bring me my breakfast,” he says. “I won’t be needing food until then.”

Confused, Rey asks, “Are you sure?”

She can’t fathom why someone would voluntarily skip a meal; having gone without food for so long. It’s appalling and almost a little insulting, but she bites her tongue. It’s clear that she’s being dismissed, and the moment that occurred earlier will not be continuing. 

Hux nods, and Rey walks to the door. Her flats squeak and slosh with each step she takes, soaked through like the rest of her outfit was. “Well… goodnight then,” she says, pausing just as she passes him in the doorway.

His gaze lingers upon her as she walks down the corridor, and he becomes distracted enough that his mother surprises him as she appears from the shadows. She looks as elegant as she had during the funeral procession, though now dressed for bed. Her eyebrow is raised and Hux can tell by her expression that whatever conversation is about to occur, he won’t enjoy it. Such a feeling seems to be the norm around his mother these days.

“Darling,” she greets.

Hux sighs. “Mother.”

“I see you and Rey got caught outside,” she observes, walking into his quarters to see the trail of water from the balcony to his fresher, the faintest view of the crumpled black gown on the fresher floor.

Hux doesn’t want to lie. “She’d never felt the rain before. I obliged.”

“You couldn’t just let her feel it for herself?” 

He crosses his room and sits upon the edge of his bed. He’s exhausted, and could use an early bedtime after the day they’ve had as an easy out if he tries hard enough.

“You know how she is,” Hux replies. He waves it off as though it’s nothing. “She’s childlike. She wanted me to join. Pulled me into the rain, actually.”

Appalled, Elizabeth says, “That’s rather unbecoming behavior.”

He glances up; punishment from his mother wouldn’t do, not for the little white lies he’s telling. “I admonished her plenty, Mother.”

“Did you?” she says, a knowing smile on her face as she walks to his closet.

Annoyed, and slightly suspicious that she may have seen their earlier indiscretion on the balcony, he asks, “Why are you here? You never visit without a motive.”

“Of course I do,” she says, a sing-song tone in her voice and the traces of a smile upon her face. “But you’re right, I suppose I have a purpose tonight.”

“And that purpose is…?”

Elizabeth returns from the closet with a towel in her hands, and gently begins to dry her son’s hair as she says, “You’re impatient tonight.”

“I’m tired,” he snips, yanking the towel from her hands. “And I don’t need you to coddle me. I’m an adult, and can care for myself.”

Standing tall, arms crossed at her chest, Elizabeth looks down her slim nose at her son. “I suppose you can. But you won’t have to for a little bit,” she begins. 

Hux sets the towel aside and looks up at her, his eyes narrowing. “What are you talking about?” he asks through gritted teeth.

Elizabeth smiles, positively bursting with pride as she says, “I’ve arranged a nice holiday for you, to help you relax and grieve. Be taken care of.” He waits, already seething. “You’ll be traveling to Yavin IV with Poe, just the two of you, for about a week — perhaps more. We’ll see.”

“Why the sudden change in plans?” Hux asks bitterly.

Her smile doesn’t fade no matter how terse he tries to sound. “I know how much you hate planning events and parties,” she says patronizingly. “I’m sure Rey and I can get so much more done for your coronation and the wedding if you’re busy somewhere else.”

“Mother —”

“The plans have already been made,” she says.

He seethes, watching as she walks gracefully to the doorway. At least she’s leaving of her own accord and he doesn’t have to kick her out.

Before she crosses the threshold, Elizabeth turns to look over her shoulder at her son. “Be careful, darling. There’s only one person you ought to be kissing now, and it isn’t her,” she warns. “It’s time to grow up. I’m sure if you let him, Dameron could give you all she did and more.”

Hux has no time to formulate a single word in response before she leaves, pulling the door closed behind her.

Alone in his quarters, Hux takes deep breaths to calm himself. He’s back to square one, but with even more weight upon his shoulders. Now he has a kingdom, and a fiancé, and no hopes for happiness in the path ahead.

Tossing himself dramatically back against his pillows, Hux closes his eyes and groans. Now he’s truly trapped, with no escape on the horizon, and there’s not a thing that he can do about it.


	17. Act I, Chapter XVII: Finding Strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben wakes to a surprise at the ranch, and seeks solace in an old friend afterwards. Meanwhile, Hux adjusts to the life of his betrothed, and meets the people of Yavin.

This time, when Ben wakes to find the bed next to him empty, he thinks nothing of it. Rose is an early riser, and it’s likely she’s already making them breakfast. She’s thoughtful and generous, and she looks out for him in a way that nobody else does.

Before he rolls out of bed, though, Ben thinks about the night before. What they’d done… it definitely crossed a line.

Whether that’s a bad thing or not still stands for judgment, but he’s not mad about it. If anything, he’s worried. He wonders what Rose thought, whether it was her first time. Given she’d had her first kiss with him in the hangar just a few weeks prior, he’s going to make that assumption, but that only makes his stomach twist more. 

This time, though, unlike the other night when they’d made out on the sofa, they’d been completely sober. Sun-drunk and wrapped up in the chaos of the day, maybe. But they’d held hands on the walk back, and she’d seemed completely willing. Ben just has to trust that Rose — strong, outspoken Rose — would have stopped him if she wasn’t interested, if she hadn’t wanted it.

Ben’s stomach grumbles and he takes that as his cue to get out of bed. As he does, his muscles scream out; the day before had taken quite a toll on him. 

As he descends the stairs, grimacing with each step, he looks around for Rose, to see where she is and what she’s making them that morning. The main level of the ranch is curiously quiet, though, and as he enters the kitchen, he’s met with empty countertops, no food on the stovetop.

“Rose?”

He looks around, by the sofa, by the door, out on the porch… she’s nowhere to be seen. 

It’s likely that she went to her own room, Ben reasons. She’s had her own room the entire time, regardless of whether she’d actually slept in it. He’s nervous, though — this is very unlike Rose, and it makes him unsure of what to expect when he explores the second level. She’s not in the fresher, which means if she’s anywhere, it’s her own room.

But her room looks untouched, just as it had been days before. The only change is a small piece of flimsi on her bed, borrowed from Ben’s vintage, monogrammed calligraphy set he brought with him everywhere he went. In unpracticed, sloppy aurebesh (she clearly didn’t write often, and Ben couldn’t blame her because nobody did), she’d left him a note.

The words hurt, and he replayed them over and over in his mind as he sat at the edge of her bed, breathing steadily.

_Ben,_

_I’m sorry to do this to you, but I have to go. Last night was great, but it shouldn’t have happened. You’re the Crown Prince of Alderaan, and I’m just the mechanic. We need to be honest: we don’t get a happy ending together._

_You might remember me telling you that your mom recommended me to all the best flight academies like Arkanis, Yavin, and Hosnian Prime. Well, I found out I got accepted to several. I need to decide very soon. It’s a sign that I need to go, and you need to find the princess of your dreams._

_I’ll always treasure our friendship. I don’t want it to end. But it’s time we go our separate ways for a while and see if our paths cross again. I’m so grateful for everything you and your family have done for me._

_Yours always,_   
_Rose_

Ben stares at the flimsi, reading it over and over again. The note, the situation… it’s all so very Rose. Impulsive, done with the thoughts of others’ feelings in mind whether or not it should have been. He’s proud, though. She’s thinking of herself now, of her future. She’s going to a flight academy, she’s making something of herself bigger than what she’d been afforded in life.

He hadn’t had any doubts, of course; a glowing review from the Queen of Alderaan can open any doors in the galaxy. 

It hurts, though. She’d left him behind just as so many others have. It’s an unfair judgment to make, but he thinks to himself that she doesn’t even seem _that_ sorry in her note. But she shouldn’t be sorry for leaving for her career. Selfishly, he just wishes she’d said goodbye to him face to face before she’d gone.

She owes him nothing, though, and he knows it.

What he _does_ know, though, is that he doesn’t want to be at that ranch without her. It holds memories he’ll never be able to forget, now. And it’s lonely when he has nobody to keep him company. He likes solitude more than most, but this is more than even he can withstand for much longer.

But he doesn’t want to go home, not yet.

A mixture of confusion and anger swirl within him, and he aims a strong kick at the bedside table. The furniture shakes and sways at the impact, but doesn’t break. Ben growls angrily, resisting the urge to let his anger manifest in any other ways. What he has to do is leave; he’s an expert at leaving the planet when things become difficult, or don’t go his way.

It’s time to leave the ranch behind, for good.

Ben determinedly shuffles around the ranch, stuffing as many of his possessions into his bags as he can. He doesn’t know how he’d gotten them all out there, because they don’t fit again now. So, he flings plaid shirts over his shoulder, ties one around his waist by the sleeves, and trudges with all his possessions in his hands back to the speeder. He’ll have to trade it in for a shuttle somewhere along the way, but is confident he can swap it for Yellow Leader in the hangar without anyone noticing. Rose isn’t there, and if he had to guess, Paige isn’t either. She’s likely celebrating with her sister.

Sure enough, he’s able to navigate the hangar without a soul finding him, and Ben can transfer all his stuff to Yellow Leader and take off to the skies. Just as he’s leaving the atmosphere, he debates sending a comm to his destination. But he doesn’t have to — he knows he can drop in — so he just focuses on getting there as soon as possible.

——

An extravagant shuttle touches down on the tarmac belonging to the Temple of Yavin and the royal family who lives there; Poe and Hux, now faced with their own exile of sorts, touch down on the moon planet. Hux was silent the whole way, giving Poe a wide berth and pointedly not speaking to him unless absolutely necessary.

Poe navigated the ship, so at least he’d had something to do while they were traveling, to distract him from the silence. He wishes that Finn hadn’t stayed on Arkanis, that Elizabeth Hux wasn’t so good at meddling where she didn’t belong. At least then Poe would have had someone to talk to during the journey.

Just as usual, Poe’s droid BB-8 speeds across the property to greet Poe upon arrival. The droid settles next to Kes Dameron and together they wait for Poe to lower the gangway of the ship.

Hux makes a side comment about the sunlight, but says nothing more as they make their descent to the tarmac, to Poe’s home.

Usually, Poe greets his father with a hug, but given the strain upon their relationship due to the arranged marriage, Poe first greets his droid. “Beebee-ate, how you doing, buddy?” Poe asks, the biggest smile he’s worn in days now upon his face.

He kneels down, patting the droid’s round body, finding joy in the way BB-8 nestles against his leg and beeps happily in greeting. “Missed you too, buddy, I missed you too,” Poe says, leaning in, nearly putting his forehead to the small head component of his droid.

When he stands, Poe turns to face his father. “Poe,” Kes greets, arms open.

“Hey, dad,” Poe replies.

It’s clear he’s still expected to greet his father as he usually would, so he obliges. Though it’s childlike, Poe lets his embrace remain loose, a bit cold, and his father must notice, if the confusion and slight disappointment in his expression as Poe breaks the hug is any indication. “Dad, this is Hux. Hux, you’ve probably already met my dad,” Poe introduces them halfheartedly.

It’s not how he was taught in school; etiquette was a big portion of their education but he rarely paid attention to it. He could play it up and be an obedient Prince when he needed to be, but this wasn’t an occasion that he felt accounted for it. Hux was hot one minute and cold the next, and a life full of that type of mood swing was going to be a difficult one. A fate he faced solely because of his father.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Hux says, his tone formal and clipped.

He shakes hands with Kes, who responds, “You as well.”

“Thank you for opening your ho- _oh_ ,” Hux looks down, his formal thanks interrupted by BB-8 smacking unceremoniously against his calf.

Poe chuckles before interjecting, “This is my droid, BB-8. He’s just as much my family as Finn or my dad, here.”

Hux looks from the droid, to Kes, to Poe, and then back at the droid. He seems absolutely appalled at the concept of someone caring so much for a droid. It seems like a farce; they’re simply machinery, nothing more. Forming an emotional attachment to such a thing seems absolutely insane.

“Ah. Hello,” Hux says; he was never taught how to formally greet a droid, after all.

“You boys arrived just in time,” Kes interjects, diffusing the situation as quickly as possible. “You can freshen up, then we’ll go to the parade.”

“Parade?” asks Hux, confused.

Kes looks to Poe with an eyebrow raised before explaining, “The people of Massassi City have planned a parade and celebration, for your engagement.”

“Wow, I’m glad someone told us,” Poe says sarcastically. “Guess that means we should go to my room, huh?”

He’s making no assumptions that his father has prepared anywhere for Hux to stay; if he’s anything like Elizabeth Hux, he’s going to do all he can to force the relationship. In fact, he was shocked when he wasn’t expected to stay in Hux’s quarters.

“Yes. Meet me in the foyer in an hour, we’ll board our speeder then,” Kes instructs, paying no mind to his son’s sarcasm.

Poe looks to Hux, rolls his eyes, and he’d almost swear Hux nods in agreement; this parade and celebration is something neither of them were prepared for.

Though Hux didn’t bring any clothing appropriate for long stretches of time under the relentless Yavin IV sunlight, he presents himself as well as he can, anyway. He wears a suit without the jacket, extra product in his hair to keep it all in place. Thankfully, the shuttle they board has a canopy, protecting his fair skin from the sun above, but Poe spends much time outside the speeder, greeting his people along the curb of the street. 

It takes until about halfway through the parade for Hux to realize that he, too, should be greeting the citizens of Yavin IV. All the odd looks he’s getting, the glares from citizens that clearly imply he thinks he’s too good for them, too good for the Resistance, tell him that in order for their plan to succeed and the First Order to gain Resistance intel, now is the time to act.

Hux stops the shuttle so he can step out and approach Poe, who kneels down to stand eye level with a group of children near the street market. The children are grinning from ear to ear, a few patting BB-8 atop his head as Poe talks to one of the other children. 

All eyes are on Hux as he approaches, and the crowd’s cheers dim. They don’t know what Hux is doing, what’s going on.

Hux ignores the stares, the whispers, and instead just kneels next to Poe. Surprised by his sudden guest, Poe looks over to see what’s going on. Pointedly, Hux ignores his confusion. He instead puts on his best smile and greets two young girls, sisters by the looks of it. “Hello,” he says to them.

They’re both dark haired and olive skinned, just like many of the residents of Massassi City. The taller has bright, sparkling blue eyes, and the younger’s are chestnut brown. “Hi,” says the taller.

The younger just waves.

“What are your names?” Hux asks warmly.

“I’m Moira, that’s Chesa,” says the taller. “She’s my sister. We live here.”

Hux is patient and kind. “It’s very nice to meet you. I’m Armitage. I don’t live here yet, but I will soon,” he says. “Do you like it here?”

“Yes,” says Moira. She’s a confident girl; Hux can tell she’ll go far.

He instead focuses his attention on the younger girl. “What about you, Chesa? Do you like living here?” he asks.

Very gently, he takes her small hand in his own. She’s chewing on the fingers of her other hand, and she studies him curiously. After a moment, she nods. Hux beams at her, to put her at ease, and says, “That’s wonderful. I’m so glad.”

“Why are you moving here?” asks Moira.

“Well, I’ll be marrying your prince, Poe,” he says, looking over at the man for the first time since he’d knelt down.

Very softly, so soft that he can barely hear her, Chesa asks, “You scared?”

Hux looks to the young girl and responds, “Yes, a little. But you’re all so kind. I don’t think I have reason to be scared, do I?”

Again, Chesa shakes her head. Hux gives her hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m very glad to hear it. Thank you both so much,” he replies.

Moira and Chesa both smile proudly. Poe stands, and his hand on Hux’s shoulder warns him that it’s time they continue walking. As he stands, Hux looks to the girls once more. “I’ll see you again soon,” he says kindly, before walking away with Poe.

Poe studies Hux oddly for a moment, as they catch up with the speeder and the parade. Focused on making a good impression on the people of Massassi City and hopefully all of Yavin IV, Hux just takes Poe’s hand in his own, squeezes, and raises an eyebrow as though to challenge Poe to say something about his behavior. 

He doesn’t, though, and instead takes this side of Hux in stride as they journey the rest of the parade together, occasionally holding hands, but most of the time greeting all the people gathered for them, to congratulate them. 

That evening, after dinner and drinks on the veranda, Hux and Poe are back in Poe’s quarters. Though Hux’s warmth and kindness ebbed the moment they arrived back at the Temple of Yavin, there’s less rough edges to him than there had been on Arkanis. Poe appreciates that; it makes him feel less like he’s being played. For a while, he’d been suspicious with the way Hux was interested in making their engagement into a real relationship, and reconciling that with the Hux who pushed him away at any opportunity when he was hurting and needed someone after his father’s death.

Evidently, grief just took more of a hold on Hux than Poe had expected. Things seem back to normal, and he’s grateful for it. He feels less trapped, less doomed, seeing this side of Hux.

As they ready for bed, Poe offers a small bottle to Hux. “It’ll help,” Poe says, gesturing vaguely to his own face and neck.

Hux takes the bottle, frowning. He’d been burnt by the sunlight once he’d left the protection of the canopy on the shuttle. It was a small price to pay, however, in order to gain the confidence and acceptance of Poe’s people. It was the first step to gaining more power in the galaxy. Besides, he wasn’t a _monster_. He knew how to speak to children, to people who were skeptical, and to skew them to his favor if necessary.

“You know… I think they liked you today,” Poe confesses, sitting on one side of his bed, reveling in the cool breeze flowing in through his windows facing the forest outside.

Hux scowls as he gently rubs the soothing lotion upon his cheeks and nose. “You say that like they shouldn’t.”

“No,” Poe shakes his head. “I don’t think that. I just… didn’t expect that.”

“I’m not a monster.”

Frowning, Poe says, “It’s just… you haven’t been all that friendly lately. I know it’s ‘cause of your dad and that’s totally understandable, but… it was a surprise. A _nice_ surprise.”

Hux puts lotion on the back of his neck, and upon the pink parts of the front of his neck and chest; the sun had been relentless, and is one of the things he dislikes about Yavin IV. Once he’s finished, he walks to the other side of the bed. 

“I’m sorry I keep underestimating you,” Poe offers as they both lay back in bed, leaving plenty of space between them. “It’s not fair of me. You’re trying. Now I gotta do the same. I see that, and I get it.”

“Thank you,” Hux responds.

Poe turns his head to look at Hux, to really take in the sight of him. He wants to say something, but doesn’t know what. They have next to nothing in common; what could he possibly talk about with this man? But leaving the silence as it is feels equally as bad. As Poe wrestles with what to do, Hux closes his eyes and drifts off, rendering Poe’s internal struggle moot. Poe can do nothing now but fall asleep, too.

——

Landing in the aircraft port of Coruscant is familiar to Ben, an old habit he’s gone through hundreds of times before. As is his walk to _500 Republica_ , a place he used to call home. He’d lived there with Tallie, when they’d been together. 

And now he was back, for the first time since the divorce, and his stomach was filled with knots.

He was hurt, confused, overwhelmed by his situation and all the people finding ways to leave him behind. It’s a challenge for him, to not take it all personally. He’s been cast off by Snoke, by his parents, by Rose. He prays to the maker that he’s not turned away by Tallie, too.

When he arrives at the Royal Family’s penthouse suite, he takes every precaution to be sure nobody is inside before he lets himself in. They’d never discussed this, the boundaries for Ben when he visits, because it had never been necessary until now. He stands at the bay of windows, looking out at Coruscant as it spans across the surface of the planet.

Ben doesn’t know how long he stands there, and barely hears when the hydraulic whir opens the doors to the penthouse. There are whispers, and immediately Jessika retreats to a different room as Tallie enters. She looks alarmed, but mostly concerned, as she approaches Ben at the windows. When he turns to look at her, his expression nearly stops her in her tracks.

He looks _broken._

She doesn’t ask what’s wrong; doesn’t need to, because it doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, she’ll help him. They parted on good terms, as friends, and that means something to her. Her pace quickens as she approaches, her arms wrapping around his waist in an embrace.

It’s different than he remembers, hugging Tallie. Her growing baby bump brushes against his stomach and he’s reminded of the baby, of their situation now, of what lay ahead. But he’s grateful for her kindness, for the way she hasn’t yelled at him yet. He remembers when they’d argue, before the divorce, Tallie constantly disappointed at his sporadic and unpredictable absences. He leans over her, arms around her waist as she rests her head on his shoulder and gives him all the comfort he knows he doesn’t deserve.

He struggles to keep his breathing steady, his emotions in check. He’s aware that he looks a mess, his greasy hair and the bags under his eyes. He doesn’t know how long he’d flown from Alderaan to Coruscant. It doesn’t matter. He feels like he hasn’t slept in days, a million thoughts and emotions swirling in his head. And Tallie — patient, beautiful Tallie — just holds him warmly, understanding and kind.

Eventually, she indicates it’s time to sit and talk, stepping away only to take his hand and lead him to the sofa facing the windows. Tallie keeps her hand in his as they sit, and she looks him over; he looks terrible, a ghost of the man she’d married. Her curiosity can’t be abated any longer. Hesitantly, she asks, “Ben, what’s wrong?”

He takes her hands in his, bowing his head as though asking for forgiveness before ever baring his soul to her.

“Everything,” he sighs. “I can’t handle it. The pressure, the gossip… there’s so much happening and I can’t control _any_ of it.” 

Tallie feels his tension growing, his frustration with his situation, his worry about what comes next. She feels it too. All the young royals do.

“After the divorce, and then the news of the baby… my parents sent me away. To the ranch. They thought it’d be good for me. Kriff _I_ thought it’d be good for me,” he explains. He’s rambling now, his voice frantic, a little hoarse. “So we’re sent away — me and Rose — and it’s fine. I get to work on the ranch, actually _do_ something. But then Rose —”

Ben hesitates, and Tallie has no idea what comes next. She tries to help by offering, “You two were always close.”

He bows his head further, watching as Tallie comfortingly brushes his hand with her thumbs. She’s so patient — he doesn’t deserve it, and this he knows with complete confidence.

“We got too close,” he confesses. “We… I shouldn’t have done that. Let it get that far. She was interested, too, but then I woke up and she was _gone_. I screwed it up. She left and I may not ever see her again.” He gasps for breath. “You and I broke up… my parents sent me to the ranch… Rose left me at the ranch… _kriff_ , even Snoke doesn’t want me.”

Tallie’s whole body tenses. Her eyes are wide and she squeezes Ben’s hands to get his attention. “Snoke? What does he have to do with anything?”

Ben is quiet, frozen as he debates whether or not to explain to Tallie. But that wall is cracked now, the wall between those two lives, little bits of the Dark side of him seeping through into the Light.

Tallie deserves the truth. The truth destroyed them. Though it could drive her away, the truth could also absolve him of his guilt. She’ll know the real truth behind their divorce. It’s time.

“Snoke, he… he’d come to me in my dreams, when I was young,” Ben explains. His voice is softer, now. Tallie has to strain to hear him. “He didn’t stop. He was _relentless_. Even when I went to train with Luke, and I told Luke — he didn’t believe me, said I was just afraid. But it got worse. Eventually, I couldn’t block him out. I… I gave in.”

Stunned, Tallie tips her head to the side, ducking to try to meet his gaze. “Ben?” she prompts.

Their eyes meet, and he looks hollowed out and empty, eyes sunken and dark, his frown deep upon his face. “I went to Snoke. On his ship. My parents thought I was at Poe’s, and he covered for me because I told him I was with Lando… it’s a mess. I created a mess. And… Snoke created a monster.”

Tallie tries to keep the horror from her face as she listens, hears the story of how Ben’s life fell apart. “You’re not a monster,” she says to him. “You’re Ben Solo. You’re a prince. You do good things in this galaxy.” Squeezing his hands reassuringly, she says, “Snoke and Kylo Ren are the monsters, not you.”

He looks up sharply, startling her. “I _am_ Kylo Ren,” he confesses.

His voice is barely even a whisper, hoarse and rough and full of regret. She sees the misery in his expression, the guilt and the agony of the secret he’s been hiding.

Her jaw drops, and words fail her. She can’t possibly imagine Ben doing the horrible things that the First Order has done, having a hand in any of it. It’s impossible to consider Ben fighting against his parents, his best friend, against _her_.

“But… how?”

“He wouldn’t leave me alone,” Ben says. He looks down again; holding her pained gaze is too much for him. “Every night he’d come to me. First, only in my dreams. But then he snuck into my thoughts while I was awake. He’d manipulate me. See the world through my eyes. He’d threaten to share the intel I learned from my parents with the rest of the galaxy if I didn’t agree to join him, to train with him. He told me what _real_ Force users can do, the things Luke wasn’t going to teach us. And he had so much blackmail it was all I could do… if I wanted to save the Light, I had to join the Dark. I had no choice, Tallie, I…”

Ben trails off, shaking his head, slumping in on himself. The guilt and fear and pain all bubbling to the surface within him, the power of his confession now weighing on Tallie’s shoulders. 

“So all those times you were gone…?” she trails off.

“Yes,” Ben says. “I was there. With him.”

“Ben…”

When she says nothing more, Ben has his answer. He stands and walks briskly towards the door, hiding his face from view, the shame he feels which is clearly written across his face. He’s always been bad at masking his emotions, sometimes even while wearing the Kylo Ren mask.

“Ben, no, don’t go.”

Tallie rushes as quickly as she can in her long, flowy dress. She takes his hand and looks up at him earnestly. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears and he can feel the pain radiating from her, the pity she feels for him.

“Don’t pity me. I did this to myself.”

She shakes her head vehemently. “No, you didn’t,” she disagrees. “Snoke hurt you. He manipulated you, abused you into doing his bidding. That’s not your fault.”

“I agreed. I could have asked for help,” he says. “This is on me.”

“Ben…” she says again. “You told me that your parents and Luke said the threat wasn’t real. We both know if you’d told them that Snoke was blackmailing you, they wouldn’t have believed you.” She’s silent, lets her words sink in. “There was nothing you could have done differently. You asked for help and they turned you away. I… I’m sorry you’ve had to go through this on your own.”

He’s quiet; he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t agree, but Tallie won’t hear otherwise. She can be stubborn, determined — he likes that about her. 

“I… I don’t want the baby to know.”

It’s the first time he’s really talked about the baby at all, and the first conversation they have together about it. Tallie is frowning — he wonders if that means she won’t agree to that. “Ben, I’m sorry for how you found out. I didn’t know how to say it, and…” she trails off. She really doesn’t have a good excuse.

“It’s okay,” he responds. “I’m not angry.”

“I hope the way that happened doesn’t make you think I don’t want you to be a part of the baby’s life,” Tallie says immediately. “They’re yours, too. They’re your successor to the throne on Alderaan if you legitimize them.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Tallie shrugs. “Kings can do that,” she says. “I… I hoped you wouldn’t, though.”

“Of course I won’t,” Ben insists. “I can’t say I’ll be a good father, but —”

“Ben,” Tallie interrupts. She waits until their eyes meet to speak again. “You are going to be a wonderful father. You have a big heart, and you know right from wrong.”

“I don’t.”

“You _do_ ,” she repeats. “You can share any parts of your life with the baby as you want. And you can hide as much as you’d like, as well. I hope you won’t hide much, but… if you don’t want to tell them about Kylo Ren or Snoke, I understand.”

He looks into her eyes. Though he still looks terrible, there’s a peace in his expression that wasn’t there before. Tallie has settled him, calmed him, and he’s forever grateful. Before he can say a word, his comm device lets out an urgent alert. It’s time to return home. His mother has inevitably gotten word that Rose has left the ranch, meaning he’s expected to return, too.

“I have to go,” he says, frowning.

“Okay,” Tallie nods. “I’m glad you came.”

The sentiment surprises him, and he makes it clear on his face. “Really?”

Tallie nods. “I’d like to see you more. Maybe bring you with me when I see a medic. They let you hear the baby’s heartbeat, did you know that?” she asks. Ben shakes his head; he knows next to nothing about the more intimate aspects of pregnancy and childbirth. “You should come with me sometime,” she suggests.

Ben nods.

Tallie sighs, knowing this is their awkward goodbye, and it’s time to send him away. “We’ll talk more too, about what else you told me. We can get you away from him,” Tallie insists. “I promise.”

“I don’t —”

“Ben,” she interrupts. “War is coming. And before it happens, you need to figure out which side of it you’re going to be on.”

He frowns, but nods. She’s right. It’s all an inevitability now, and in war, he won’t be able to play both sides.

For himself, for his friends, and most importantly, for his unborn child, Ben must choose a side once and for all, possibly risking his life in the process.

He knows what he has to do, now he just needs to find the strength with which to do it.


	18. Act I, Chapter XVIII: What's in a Name?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey has an audience with Supreme Leader Snoke, and must double down her efforts to win the governor's election on Chandrila. Finn and Phasma bond, until disaster strikes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those of you along for the ride. Thank you to Caitlin for the lovely moodboard! Enjoy <3

Snoke’s ship is gloomy and dark; Rey feels more chilled than she had after standing in the rain on Arkanis. It makes the hairs on her arms stand on end, and she wishes she’d worn a dress with longer sleeves for her audience with the Supreme Leader.

She stands tall and proud, trying hard to remember everything Hux and his mother have taught her about how to behave like a lady. That’s presumably why she’s on the ship — to prove to him that she was worth saving from Jakku. Rey walks a bit clumsily, all of Elizabeth’s dresses just a bit too long for her. Elizabeth won’t let her raise the hem, though. No, if Rey can walk in a dress too long for her, then she’ll walk perfectly in something tailored to her. It’s one of Elizabeth’s more annoying training methods.

Rey is left waiting outside Snoke’s throne room, another test, she’s sure. She finds herself growing irritated, though, as she stands in an uncomfortable gown, freezing, in shoes with heels that hurt her feet. She’d just like comfortable clothes and a warm bed. 

Finally, she’s allowed to enter.

Her shoes click, commanding and loud, in the chamber as she approaches Snoke’s throne. He looks more snarled and mangled than she remembers, truly a nightmare in the cool darkness of the _Supremacy_. 

“Young Rey.”

Rey steels her expression, scowling at him as he calls her _young_. She’s tired of people treating her like she’s lesser because of her age or her size. She has had to go through more in her few years than many experience in a lifetime. When she reaches as close to his throne as she’s willing to get, Rey stops with a firm click of her shoe on the steel. 

“You’ve grown stronger.”

She doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t think Snoke wants her to respond anyway. She’s there for him to observe, for him to evaluate. Rey squares her shoulders and purses her lips.

“I see Elizabeth has been training you well,” Snoke continues. “You look more the part of a Governor, now. But your etiquette still needs work, I see.”

Rey scowls. 

“Exactly,” he sneers.

Snoke leans forward, resting on one of his arms as he looks closer at Rey. “You’ll need to double your efforts if you are to succeed in the first debate. It is mere weeks away, and you have much still to learn,” he instructs.

“Why does it matter so much?”

Rey’s words surprise Snoke, and his eyebrows raise — or where they’d be if he _had_ any, anyway. “Politics,” he responds simply.

Stubbornly, Rey crosses her arms. “You all keep saying that, but you don’t realize that we never got the news on Jakku. I have no idea what most planets are _called_ , never mind who runs them or what side of the war they’re on or what they believe. I don’t know what’s myth and what’s real,” she explains. “I want to know why I’m doing this. What am I fighting for? Who matters to me? I have _nothing_.”

“You have everything the Hux family has given you,” Snoke says, sneering at her.

“Yes, Elizabeth’s attitude, Hux’s… I don’t even _know_ what you’d call it… and Brendol is gone, just as you asked,” Rey responds sarcastically. “I’m going to need more, or this is going to fail.”

Snoke leans back in his throne, draping an arm over the edge as he studies her. “Such spunk in you, child,” he observes. “Your success in removing King Brendol from the equation was masterful. You will be rewarded for that.”

“So then _reward me_ ,” Rey demands through gritted teeth. “You destroyed my home and sent me to a family that doesn’t want me. I need something to make this all worth it.”

As he sneers, Rey’s skin crawls. She feels a faint intrusion in her mind, like Snoke is reading her. After a moment, she feels the familiar sting of pain just like she feels when he visits her in her mind, when she’s on Arkanis. “Young Hux wants you,” Snoke observes. “He has taken _quite_ an interest in you.”

Angrily, Rey responds, “He _hasn’t_.”

Images of that night on Hux’s balcony, the two of them kissing in the rain after the funeral, the way they’d clung to each other and poured their everything into the kiss — it haunts her, and she feels Snoke’s presence in her mind. He’s seeing it all.

“He has,” Snoke argues, his voice dropped to a low hum. “You look like you’ve become _quite_ welcome in the Hux household.”

“ _Stop it._ ”

Rey closes her eyes, fighting against Snoke’s presence in her mind. She wants him to be gone, and she’s going to put her every ounce of energy into doing just that. When he notices her beginning to resist him, he retreats, leaving Rey’s head clear, but throbbing with a residual headache.

“I will instruct Elizabeth to get you a tutor. You will learn politics and history. You will continue etiquette lessons. You will no longer serve the Hux family, but rather live with them as a visiting diplomat,” Snoke instructs. 

He leans forward once more, studying Rey up and down. His gaze so brazen upon her body makes Rey want to vomit, but she doesn’t dare look away. He can’t risk appearing weak to this vile, disgusting man.

“Armitage has informed me that you don’t have a family name, is this true?”

Rey nods. It makes her feel awful, her stomach twisting as she confesses to having no family, and now perhaps no future, having entrusted her survival in such a horrible man. Her parents could be out there somewhere, but she’ll never, ever know because Jakku has been destroyed — she’s completely at Snoke’s whim.

“Very well. We must name you. You will be presented to society at the coronation of Armitage Hux,” Snoke says, thinking out loud. He taps a finger to his chin pensively. “You will be training with Kylo Ren — it seems fitting to name you as one of his knights. A name befitting a governor and a warrior…”

Breathing heavily, Rey waits with as much patience as she can muster, hoping that he picks a suitable name, something she could be proud of. Finally, he speaks.

“We will call you… Kira Ren.”

——

His words echo in Rey’s head the entire journey back to Arkanis — she can’t quite call it home yet, but perhaps one day she’ll come around to the idea. For now, she has no home. Her home was destroyed by the very people she works for now, the very people she trusts with her livelihood and any future success she might have.

It’s late when she arrives on Arkanis, but not unbearably so. The staff are still awake, busily bustling throughout the estate. In the foyer stands Elizabeth, wearing a pearl-colored dress decorated with that very same stone, her red curls draped over her shoulder regally, in a way Rey could aspire to but knew she’d never quite achieve.

“You’re back.”

Rey nods; she’s trying to remember every bit of etiquette Elizabeth taught her. The woman is dangerous, manipulative, and still angry from the death of her husband. She’s never liked Rey, but things have become worse since Brendol’s murder.

“Yes, ma’am,” Rey responds, bowing her head in a small curtsey.

Elizabeth looks down her nose at Rey. “The staff are moving your things to the South wing, to your new quarters. Phasma is also staying in that corridor, so you’ll need to be mindful of her presence,” instructs Elizabeth, her words clipped and voice tight. “Do not disturb her.”

“I will be careful. Thank you.”

Rey doesn’t move; Elizabeth hasn’t shifted her gaze away from Rey, hasn’t indicated that it would be appropriate to walk away now. No, Elizabeth certainly has more to say, and Rey must wait in anticipation until such a time as her host decides she’s going to speak. Rey operates on Elizabeth’s time — the very concept Hux was trying to explain to Rey days ago in their first meeting.

“I understand we are to present you to the public as Kira Ren,” continues Elizabeth finally. “That’s quite a name. Do you anticipate becoming one of Ren’s knights?”

Rey nods. “The Supreme Leader is planning for that, yes,” she explains. “And I have no family name.”

Elizabeth looks amused. “Of course you don’t.”

It takes every ounce of self-control Rey possesses not to react to the disrespectful response to the very painful confession Rey made. 

Again, Rey waits. The conversation doesn’t feel complete, and it isn’t in Rey’s purview to decide when it has ended. Rey just has to stand there, shivering in the cool breeze from outside, watching as her former co-workers now move her few possessions to the South wing in addition to any furniture that wasn’t already there and ready for her. She’s filled with an immeasurable amount of guilt.

“You’ll begin tutoring when I can find a teacher for you,” Elizabeth says finally. “It will be difficult, at such short notice. You should have told us sooner that you needed an education.”

Rey opens her mouth to speak, but is interrupted. “That is all. Goodnight.”

Though her first instinct is to scowl, Rey resists the urge and instead disappears to where she’d once stayed, as a service worker in the estate. Sure enough, there in the corner, forgotten though all the other furniture has since been removed, is her staff. Rey takes it and stomps towards the nearest exit, filled to the brim with anger and frustration. The whole time she walks, Snoke’s words ring in her ears:

_Embrace the darkness. Let it make you stronger._

She nearly trips over the many layers of dark tulle that comprise the long skirt of her dress, but successfully makes it onto the back veranda, forgotten by the Hux family and only appreciated by the service staff. But they’re all busy, meaning it’s vacant and wide open. 

Angrily, Rey pushes the few pieces of furniture out of the way and immediately begins to swing her staff around. Left and right, up and down, over her head and around her waist. She passes it between her hands, beneath her arm — every move comes to her on instinct, without her thinking about it. She’s done this for years, mostly to make sure she could defend herself on Jakku. But now she feels it a useful skill in order to impress Kylo Ren and the Supreme Leader.

Rey knows she’s strong and she’s agile — she can’t let that fall to the wayside because she’s also training to be a governor. No, she wants to be skilled in everything. It could be the difference between life or death, now. She can’t just escape to her small, hollowed-out AT-AT anymore.

Determined to revitalize her strength and channel the anger that Snoke has taught her will make her even stronger and more powerful, she swings the staff. Her dress moves with her, swirling in the wind, with the force of her twists and turns. In the dim evening lights, she looks like a ghost, a specter, something haunting the Hux family and all who cross her path. But she doesn’t think about that. She thinks only of success, of creating a better future for herself.

She _must_ be strong, because she _must_ survive. There is no other option.

——

It’s an odd night on Arkanis, a night without rain. Because of this, Phasma has chosen to take her dinner out on the balcony of her private quarters. While Hux is away with Poe, she’s taken to inviting Finn to dine with her, for the two of them to spend time together. Already they’ve gone fowl hunting and played many a game of sabacc or dejarik to pass the time. 

They’ve always skirted around actual conversation, though, which Phasma isn’t fond of. She wants to know more about this man, understand him and how he got to be in the place of his life that he’s in. 

They dine in silence, Finn sipping very slowly at the wine she’d poured for him. He seems hesitant to partake in the consumption of alcohol; perhaps he’s not allowed such a luxury on Yavin IV. 

Her curiosity too much for her, Phasma breaks the silence.

“Tell me about yourself, Finn.”

He’s caught off guard by the request, by Phasma’s direct nature. He hadn’t been expecting deep conversation or questions like this. Surprised, he sets aside his glass and angles toward her in his chair.

“There’s not a lot to know,” he says. “I serve Poe, I have since I was young.”

“How old were you when you began serving him?”

Finn shakes his head. “It wasn’t like that. I mean, it wasn’t clear cut. My mom served his family and occasionally I’d help. The Damerons are good to their attendants. They give us good rooms and food. Better than here, from what I’ve been able to see, anyway.” 

He notices the way Phasma tilts her head down, focusing on him and what he’s saying while carefully schooling her expression into something neutral.

“Anyway, so I’d help my mom from about the time I could actually be useful,” he continues. Now that he’s begun speaking, it’s hard for him to stop. He’s never had someone take an interest in his life’s story like this, other than Poe. “When she died, I was given official assignment to serve Poe, but we’d grown up together, really.”

“Grown up together? Like brothers?”

Her eyebrow is raised in curiosity, and Finn nods earnestly. He knows it’s strange, that it’s not how things usually go, but everyone on Yavin IV is kinder than on First Order planets. “Yeah,” he says. “Poe had BB-8 around that time, too, so we were more like friends than prince and attendant.”

“Poe had a droid?”

“Has,” Finn corrects. “His father got him a custom BB unit — you know, since they were designed to be therapy droids, originally — to help him after his own mom died. They died in the same raid; you know, that one back a few years ago, before the Peace Accords were signed?”

Phasma nods knowingly. “Yes. My father was part of that,” she says. “I’m sorry it hurt you.”

She doesn’t elaborate, and Finn knows what she means by that. Her father was responsible for the death of Poe and Finn’s mothers. It’s tragic, but he also knows that Phasma is not her father. It was one of the first things Finn learned, that royal children are not their parents. It’s difficult enough for the royal children to convince their people of that, they shouldn’t have to convince their staff of it, too.

“Thanks,” Finn says solemnly. “She wasn’t my birth mother. It’s —”

“That doesn’t change my apology, or your pain,” Phasma interrupts.

Finn is quiet. He knows that what she said is true, but it’s always been difficult for him to feel like he can mourn someone who only took care of him for a portion of his life when others mourn someone they’ve known their whole life, their own flesh and blood. It’s been a difficult thing to wrap his head around, and often just brushes off the conversation when it comes up.

“Tell me about your mother,” Phasma prompts.

He reaches for his wine; the conversation has taken a turn into a territory he’s never really explored with anyone but Poe. He’s not sure why he’s opening up to Phasma; she’s the enemy, and she’s ruler of her own planet. She’s possibly one of the most powerful people in the galaxy.

And for some insane reason that Finn cannot fathom, she’s taken an interest in him. 

“She was amazing,” he says. 

His voice is calmer, smoother — reverent, almost. It puts Phasma at ease as she listens to him. 

“There was a battle on Yavin years and years ago — when I was about four or five, I think — and my birth mother died in the forest. While the people of Yavin were cleaning up the mess, they found me. I was almost dead. They think I was there for a couple days, at least,” he explains. “My mother — she’d just lost her son; he was a pilot for the Resistance during the battle and was shot down. Well, when they found me, Poe’s mother thought it the right thing to do to give me to my mother, to help her cope and give her purpose.”

Phasma wears a small smile as she listens to Finn talk, as he seems to wax poetic about the life he was given, the life of service he’d inherited at the hands of Poe Dameron’s mother. He could have been adopted, become a prince just as Poe was, but that had been masked by a grand gesture such as allowing the service to take on another child. Finn speaks as though Duchess Dameron had done something thoughtful and sweet. To Phasma, she hadn’t.

In the end, she’d been looking out for her son. She’d ensured that Poe would need the utmost protection — he was the heir, and there was no spare — and that his children would live on to rule Yavin without threats of being usurped by an adopted child.

There were two sides to every story, this being a prime example of that. Phasma knew how these families worked, knew how one could manipulate a situation that would benefit her to imply that it benefits someone else more. She’s an expert at it, thus why she allows Finn to go on and on about his mother, about how wonderful she and Duchess Dameron were. All the more time for Phasma to formulate her own plan.

“Do you ever wish you’d been adopted by the Damerons, instead?” she asks coyly.

She sips her wine and sounds nonchalant as she speaks; she gives Finn no reason to suspect foul play or manipulation.

“No,” Finn says earnestly. “Poe is a good man. He deserves to be Duke.”

“Sure, but he’s going to be a rather absent Duke once he marries the King.”

Finn glances over. “He’s not a king yet.”

Phasma sighs and waves her hand around, “That’s all just a technicality. His father is dead, his coronation is being planned. He is the King.”

“Well, I still never thought about it. Even absent, Poe will be a great leader.”

Finn sounds so sure of himself, quite stubborn in his convictions, an unexpected obstacle for Phasma. She doesn’t let his reaction ruffle her, though. Instead, she sighs and responds, “Well, for what it’s worth, you would be, too.”

Her statement is so cavalier, it stuns Finn for a moment. He turns in his chair to face her properly and asks, “Why would you say that? You know nothing about me.”

“Your loyalty is admirable. You’re properly skeptical when necessary — I noticed immediately that you didn’t trust King Hux, but seemed to inherently trust me. I see you side-eyeing the new service girl, Rey. You’re observant and a good balance of emotional and calculating. Your moral compass seems strong, from what I’ve seen,” Phasma observes. “You would make an outstanding leader.”

She says each word so factually, so bluntly, that Finn can’t find it in himself to distrust or disbelieve. Phasma is persuasive and what she’s telling him is one of the most flattering things a soul could say to him.

“I…” he begins. Eventually, Finn retreats into what he knows best. “I appreciate you saying such kind things about me, Captain.”

Phasma scoffs. “We moved past the formality already. We’re speaking off the record, as equals. I don’t want you to address me by my title,” she reminds him.

Finn is quiet, seeking out his glass of wine for an excuse not to have to formulate words. He’s never had someone look at him as someone who could do things beyond his station in life. It’s difficult to fathom a life such as that.

“I’d like you to consider the possibility of ruling at my side,” Phasma says bluntly. 

Though her words may scare him off, she’d rather present the possibility to him than lose an opportunity to secure what could be a very favorable match. Unlike the other First Order royalty, Phasma needs to seek no approval — she is all that remains of the Royal Family of Parnassos, and therefore can make any decision she wants regarding her future partner.

Finn’s brow furrows. “What?”

“As you might know, I currently rule Parnassos alone. My parents and siblings are dead. I am nearing the end of my child-bearing years. Should I want to bear a natural heir, I need to get a move on. Of course, I’m not opposed to having an adopted heir, as they’re just as legitimate as a natural one, but… perhaps beneath all the armor and everything else, there’s a woman who’d like to follow through on her more… feminine duties,” Phasma says, taking care not to sound too emotional about the whole thing.

It’s been a situation she’d had to think long and hard about; how much she cares about bearing children, whether she’d like to forego her more masculine physique for a period of time in order to blossom into a woman with curves, to let her muscles lose some definition so that she can care for her baby throughout the pregnancy and the baby’s first years.

But before she worries about any of that, Phasma must first secure a partner. She has high standards, which she’s made known to Hux for years, but never before has she met someone who actually seems to tick all the boxes like Finn does.

“Is that a proposal?” Finn wonders.

Phasma is quiet; she sips her wine and considers how to best phrase everything, so as to not chase him away.

“It can be,” Phasma says finally. “I’m not meaning to pressure you. But I’ve met a lot of people in my life, and since the death of my parents, I’ve considered each and every one in terms of whether they would suit me personally, but also whether they would be a good leader. Parnassos needs strong leadership. And I’ve got no doubt you would prove to be one of the best in the galaxy.”

“Aside from you, of course,” Finn adds.

Phasma smirks. “Yes, indeed.”

He’s quiet; he stares off over the balcony, at the dark clouds of rain rolling in over the plains of Arkanis. He knows nothing about Parnassos, or what life would be like there. He’s heard nothing of their people, only knows of their leadership what Poe has told him about Phasma, or what he’s observed from spending time with her since arriving. And of course, Finn knows nothing about Phasma and her people than what he’s learned over the years of precarious peace between the Resistance and the First Order. She’s on the opposite side of the almost-war in the galaxy. Could he truly defy the life Duchess Dameron and his own mother gave him? 

Finally, Finn responds to Phasma.

“I appreciate your offer,” he says. “I… I’d need to think about it. Discuss it with Poe.”

“Of course,” she nods; she sounds as nonchalant as when the conversation had started — nothing seems to faze her, not even a potential rejection. “Take your time.”

The silence that hangs over them now is charged with something that wasn’t there before; awkwardness, perhaps? Or indecision. Hesitancy. Neither knows what to say. Phasma has bared her soul more than she’d expected to when first sitting down with him, and Finn, of course, has no idea what to say to a woman who has expressed an interest in him. Ruling a planet alongside Phasma would be a massive decision to make — and a big statement to make towards Leia and the whole of the Resistance.

Just as Finn finishes off his wine, Phasma’s comms device beeps. It signals to her an urgent message, one that causes her to sit up in her chair, suddenly alert, every muscle in her body tense. 

“What’s going on?”

“We have to go. Come with me.”

Phasma doesn’t look at him, doesn’t check to see if he’s following. She leaps from her chair and rushes into the Estate, her long legs carrying her through the dark manor at a pace Finn can barely match. He follows Phasma through the building, out the front door, and into the rain that has just begun pattering down on the massive plot of land where the Hux family lives.

She goes directly to the hangar, to her ship where it sits near the exit with a few tubes feeding into it; fuel, most likely. 

“Phasma, what are we —?”

He’s cut off before he can finish his sentence.

“Gather as many foodstuffs as you can from that cabinet there,” she says, pointing to the small pantry set up in the hangar, where the family keeps extra supplies, should they be needed.

Finn stares at her, eyes wide and full of confusion. He opens his mouth to ask why, but Phasma interrupts.

“Now!”

He does as he’s told, frantically taking armful after armful of protein bars and portion packs, watching as Phasma detaches the fuel feeders and throws a couple canteens into the back of the cargo bay. They’ll fetch them later, once the ship is in hyperspace. They need to gather supplies and they need to leave, _now_.

She looks alarmed; it’s a strange sight to see, given how calm and calculating Phasma tends to be. Finn would have thought this sort of emotional reaction beyond Phasma, the sort of thing she can block from showing to the world because she has such stellar self-control. But she’s wearing her emotions on her sleeve, showing to Finn that she’s frightened and panicked. Her brow furrows with immense duty as she breathes heavily, dragging him onto the ship and into the cockpit.

“What’s going on?” Finn asks, sitting down and buckling up obediently while he waits for his answer.

“I’ll tell you, I just —”

She flips some switches, powers on the ship, and taps in coordinates on the control panel. They need to go; they need to leave Arkanis first and then she can tell him what’s going on.

As soon as they shot into hyperspace, the stars becoming streaks of light through all the viewports, Phasma sits back in her seat. She rests her head back, eyes closed, her breathing still labored.

Finn is quiet; he’s afraid to ask again. Whatever that message was, it’s not good, and Phasma isn’t in the best state of mind. He thinks about what could have gone wrong, where they’re going, and his mind falls on one thing in particular. He feels sick when she finally says it, and confirms all his worries.

“There’s been a nuclear explosion on Parnassos. Caillope Station failed. It’s triggering natural disasters and the failure is threatening to over-stimulate the other power plants as they try to compensate. It’s only a matter of time before the majority of the planet is covered in nuclear waste or destroyed by the effects of the explosions on the atmosphere,” Phasma explains. “We need to get as many out as we can. Some cities… they’re too far gone. But others, we can still reach. We can save my people before they’re killed, or worse.”

Finn is silent as he listens in horror. This was the very thing she’d been actively trying to prevent. He’s heard from Poe and Kes both that Phasma works very hard to protect her people from the imminent danger posed by the abundance of nuclear mining facilities on Parnassos. All she’d been doing in the senate lately was pushing for better protection for her people, and stricter regulations imposed on any mining facilities in the galaxy. Parnassos has their own rules, but it requires senate approval to change those once mining facilities were placed, to prevent the planets from having too much power, and to regulate consistently between all planets.

It’s been a source of great frustration for Phasma ever since the first mining facility had a faulty switch back when she was a teen; it brought awareness to her family that this was an issue, and things have only gotten worse since then.

Finn felt dutiful already, but that’s nothing compared to the odd mixture of purpose and pride he feels when Phasma speaks next.

“Finn, I need your help. We need to save my people.”

He doesn’t think twice: he nods, looking at her determinedly. This is bigger than him or his station in life. This is a planet, a whole group of people.

It’s in his blood to save people, just as he’d been saved, no matter what side of the war they’re on. They’re innocent civilians, just as he’d once been.

Of _course_ he’ll help them.

One day, he may even rule them.


	19. Act I, Chapter XIX: A World of Diaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux and Poe wake to the news of disaster in the galaxy. All routes and ports embargoed, they spend some more quality time together as an engaged couple. Meanwhile, Leia tries to maintain peace, and Phasma and Finn try to save lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to Alannah for the lovely moodboard!

Poe wakes to sunlight streaming through the window of his bedroom. He’ll never tire of such a thing, the way the sun casts perfect rays of light across his golden and emerald linens, blankets hundreds of years old used by all manner of Damerons before him. It’s a lovely, relaxing morning, one that he doesn’t want to ever end. 

Then he hears the clicking of dishes and the mood completely shifts. 

_Right._ Hux.

Something about the expression on Hux’s face and the way he’s staring out the window tells Poe that today isn’t going to be a good day. He throws back the blankets, soaking up the cool breeze floating into the room from the open window. Poe walks over in nothing but his shorts, to Hux and the table and chairs by the open floor to ceiling windows, eyeing up the pot of caf and the empty cup meant for him.

Hux takes Poe by surprise and pours him a cup of caf. Poe’s hand grazes over Hux’s shoulder as he takes a seat next to him. “Thanks,” Poe says.

Once he’s taken a seat, he reaches out for the caf and takes a sip. “It’s mornings like these that’ll make it hard to leave Yavin,” he says bluntly.

Hux sighs heavily and doesn’t say anything in response. That makes Poe incredibly suspicious; Hux _always_ has something snarky to say about their arranged marriage.

“Okay, who are you and what have you done with my snarky, annoying fiancé?” Poe asks, eyeing Hux with a quirked eyebrow.

He hesitates before he explains, “Things are about to get very, very bad. For all of us.”

“All of us?” Poe asks.

Hux turns his head just a little. “The galaxy.”

Poe whistles; that’s a broad, sweeping statement to make, one that he finds it very difficult to believe. Hux is being alarmist, or blowing something massively out of proportion; but Poe can’t figure out what on earth could be wrong.

“Are you gonna tell me what happened?”

Though Hux looks annoyed, he also seems to get some sort of pleasure out of explaining what happened to Poe. “While a Resistance frigate returning to the holding hangar on D’Qar soared past Parnassos, one of the sensors on the Con Star nuclear plant Calliope Station failed, triggering the start of a nuclear disaster,” he says. “There’s no way to know what the long-term effects are, but the Resistance refuses to take ownership of the disaster, and the environmental effects on Parnassos are already disastrous. Phasma left Arkanis immediately to try to save her people. From what I’ve gathered, she took your hand with her.”

“Finn? Helping Phasma?”

Dryly, Hux says, “They’re fucking, you know.”

Poe’s eyes bug out. Annoyed, Hux rolls his eyes and says, “That’s not what’s important. What’s important is that this accident could cause a mass genocide. Accidental or not, that is a problem. A problem capable of starting a _war_.”

Poe is quiet, sitting back in his seat and lazily resting his mug of caf on his bare thigh. He doesn’t mind the warmth, the way it borders on too hot. His mind is too caught up in what’s happened — what it means for the galaxy, for Phasma, for _Finn_.

“So what do we do?” Poe asks finally.

Hux takes a sip of his own caf before deciding to respond. When he does, he speaks gently, as though well aware that what he’s about to say will bother Poe in some way. “Unless you are willing to admit on behalf of the Resistance that it was your fault, I don’t think there’s much of anything you can do.”

The frown on Poe’s face is deep, wrinkling his brow. He doesn’t look up at Hux, doesn’t acknowledge that he’s heard him at all. Shaking his head, he finally responds. “I can’t do that. You know it wasn’t my fault. Or the Resistance’s. It’s all just a big coincidence.”

“I know,” Hux nods. “But the Supreme Leader will not accept that as an answer. Unless you take ownership, as it was your frigate, he will not relent.”

Poe glances up and asks with false hope, “Can’t you do anything about it?”

Hux’s immediate instinct is to be angry, that Poe would ask him to do such a thing. But he’s asking a lot of Poe, and he has to remember that in order to convince Poe that this match is a smart one, and that he’s trying, he needs to give as much as he takes. So, Hux takes a breath and shakes his head. “No, I can’t. The Supreme Leader will not view me as a King until my coronation, and besides,” he pauses, “I am not the favorite.”

“He only listens to his favorite?” Poe asks.

Hux nods. “Yes. Kylo Ren.”

Poe becomes quiet, pensive. He looks out the window at the beautiful Yavin weather, at the unsuspecting villagers in the distance. They have no idea what’s coming. Hell, Poe and Hux aren’t even entirely sure what’s coming.

The room is silent save for the soft whipping of the curtains in the breeze. It should be idyllic and peaceful, but their minds are swirling with all the horrible possibilities. There are still millions of questions to be answered, ones that Hux doesn’t have the answer to, not really, even though he’d like to think that he does.

“So, are we supposed to go back to Arkanis or something?” Poe asks.

“No,” says Hux simply. “Mother sent a message this morning. There are embargoes on most major trade routes, as well as ports across the galaxy until this is all under control. Even if we wanted to or needed to, we wouldn’t be able to leave, because we’d have no way to travel to Arkanis, or to land.”

Poe glances over at Hux; he has a moment to himself to really study him. Hux’s hair is disheveled, an odd sight to see on a man who’s usually so put together. He wears silken pajamas in a forest green that brings out the color of his hair and his eyes. Delicate fingers hold a mug of caf made by ancient Yavin potters decades before, a mismatch of hard and soft lines and colors. 

And for once, Hux doesn’t bear an expression of anger or frustration. He looks… concerned. Stressed. And as the future husband to the king, he knows he ought to care a little more. So, Poe stands and walks to the drink cart in his room, one from which he’d imbibed with Ben just a few weeks prior. It’s so strange, how much things can change in such a short span of time. “Well… I guess this is all we can do today, then,” Poe says, pouring them each a sizeable glass of warm brown liquor.

He offers one to Hux, who eyes it warily for just a moment. “I promise, it’s the good stuff,” Poe says.

When Hux doesn’t bite, Poe frowns. “I’m really trying, here. Just like you asked.”

That, it seems, is enough to convince Hux that Poe is one-hundred percent earnest, and can be trusted. It’s a give and take, one Hux continuously battles with. Together, they sip from their liquor as the sun rises in the sky, a companionable silence between them.

“D’you think this will end the engagement, or make it that much more important?” Poe asks. “I think it could go either way, but… you know more than me.”

“I’ve been an unofficial king for mere days. I’ve been at your status prior to that. I know very little,” Hux reminds him. “But if I had to guess — I’d say it makes the engagement more important than ever.”

Poe glances over at Hux; his curls are a mess and his warm eyes look sad, but something about the weight of his gaze is less bothersome when Hux is drinking. Hux sighs, and Poe responds by saying, “You’re not all that bad. I think I can handle being married to you.”

“Alright,” Hux responds, reaching over and splashing a bit of liquor from his glass as he tries to take Poe’s glass from him. “It’s time to cut you off. You’re clearly absolutely sloshed.”

Poe laughs. “I am not!” he says, holding his glass where Hux can’t reach it. “I’m just saying.”

Sending an exasperated look Poe’s way, Hux says, “You’re impossible.”

Grinning, Poe says, “And I’m all yours.”

Hux groans.

——

The primary conference room on Alderaan is an absolute nightmare, with most guests invited joining by holoprojection thanks to the embargoes on travel and space ports. Leia looks like she’s been aged ten years overnight, but stands as tall as ever. Holdo is at her side, with Tallie and D’Acy. Thankfully, they were all in the same place at the same time when news of the Parnassos Disaster broke. 

“Who else is joining us?” asks Snap Wexley.

Both he and Kaydel, Queen of Naboo have joined via holoprojection, and are shown seated at a table in sparkling blue projection. Everyone at the table is currently from the Resistance, but are preparing to have less pleasant guests. “Supreme Leader Snoke is having several of his First Order members join us for a discussion. He says it’s going to be peaceful but I’ll believe that when I see it,” Leia says gruffly.

“Do we know how many to expect?”

She shakes her head. “They may send a delegate on Hux’s behalf; he’s off on Yavin with Poe, and it seems the one thing both sides can agree on is to leave those two alone,” she explains. “If we have any hope of preventing a full-on war, it’s those two getting along.”

The expressions of everyone present at the table are filled with uncertainty and skepticism. They’ve heard much of Prince Hux’s scowling expressions and generally cold demeanor, and many are well aware of how reckless and persistent Poe can be. While the match makes sense politically, it sounds like an absolute disaster in almost every other way.

“And what are our goals in this meeting?” asks D’Acy, both for herself but for the rest of the group as well.

Leia sighs and stands at the head of the table. She leans forward on it, fingers outstretched. “The goal is to prevent someone declaring war. That’s the bare minimum, at least. If we can come to some sort of agreement, that’s even better. But it’s clear the Peace Accords will be no longer, after this,” Leia explains. “We don’t have anything to offer in trade that they don’t already have, and they have more money than we can ever dream of. What it has to come down to is… some sort of protection for them. We have to give more than we get in order to keep them from blowing us up with Starkiller Base.”

Expressions are grave as she looks around the table at the Resistance members currently in attendance; she wonders where Ben is, and hopes he’s alright. She hasn’t seen him since sending him off to the mountains, but knows he’s returned. She saw Yellow Leader in the hangar when she greeted Holdo just before the embargoes had been enforced, the day before.

Seconds later, there’s scratching lines of blue, and then two figures at the end of the table. They are in stark contrast to each other, the man and the woman. The woman sits tall, looking the picture of elegance in a gown with the finest jewels around her neck, hanging from her ears, and adorning her hands and wrists. Her face has delicate features, and her hair is in curls over her shoulder. 

Next to her sits a fearsome man in all black. Head to toe, he’s covered — a mask, a cape, gloves, heavy boots. He tips his head downwards, as though looking down upon everyone in the room like the rebel scum he surely thinks they are.

“Kylo Ren and Elizabeth Hux. Welcome. Are we expecting anyone else from the First Order today?” Leia asks, getting right to the point.

Elizabeth smiles. “The Supreme Leader sends his regards, but regretfully cannot be in attendance today,” she says. “And I do believe our time is limited, so let’s get to it, shall we?”

“Right,” says Leia. 

She eyes Kylo Ren, stopped by something oddly familiar about him that causes her to hesitate and do a double take. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices the increased alarm on Tallie’s face. Turning to her, Leia asks, “Are you alright?”

Surprised that she’d been caught, Tallie nods and says nervously, “Y-yes, I’m fine. Just…” Her hand drops to her belly and she remembers the baby. Thankful for an excuse, she says, “The baby kicked.”

Leia nods and turns back to the group gathered around the table. This time, she misses the way Tallie looks right down the table at Kylo Ren. He doesn’t move or acknowledge her in any way.

“The way I see it, the most important thing we can do right now is try to maintain a sense of normalcy on our planets, and support Captain Phasma and her planets in this desperate hour of need,” Leia begins.

“What we _need_ is for you to admit what you’ve done,” Elizabeth interjects. “There must be payment of some kind.”

Leia frowns. “What has happened was a terrible accident,” Leia says. “The best course of action should be to support the people of Parnassos and find somewhere safe for them while we investigate whether it can be repaired and re-inhabited.”

“It cannot.”

Kylo Ren’s voice modulator sounds even more terrifying over holoprojection, and the room is silent for a moment before Leia argues, “You don’t know that for sure. We haven’t had a chance to investigate the repercussions yet.”

“Has a rescue mission begun yet?” Holdo asks, interrupting the very tense exchange between Ren and Leia.

“Unofficially, yes,” says Kaydel. “I have it on good authority that Phasma and the hand to Prince Poe have already taken off in an attempt to rescue residents of the planet. She was on Arkanis at the time of incident.”

Tallie leans forward. “Well, can we send backup? The faster we can send troops to collect citizens, the less radiation poisoning they’ll experience. If we set a rendezvous point, then we can find a temporary home for the residents,” she suggests.

“That’s a great idea, but until the embargo is lifted, we can’t travel any of the legal routes,” argues Kaydel.

“So take an illegal route,” Wexley suggests.

She looks over at him, displeased with such a plan. “In addition, you would need clearance to land, as per the Peace Accords,” Elizabeth adds. “Have you sought that approval yet?”

“It only takes a call to Phasma,” Holdo explains. “I have her personal comms code. We could call right now if the group agrees this is the best course of action.”

Leia looks out at the delegates seated around the table. “All those in favor?”

All hands at the table raise, even Elizabeth’s, though she has a smug smirk on her face that says this isn’t going to go as smoothly as they all think. Immediately thereafter, Wexley inputs Phasma’s personal comms code to try to reach her. 

And then they wait.

“This is ridiculous,” says Kaydel tersely, after a few moments of failed contact. “Why can’t we just go? Phasma won’t mind. She’s the only one who has to give approval.”

“It’s the law,” Elizabeth reminds her with a sickening smile on her face. “No prior approval and you risk being arrested — any pilot entering into the atmosphere surrounding Parnassos would be, in fact.”

Kaydel glares at her. “Hey Ren, can you make the ginger lady shut up and just let us land?” asks Wexley.

Leia shoots him a warning glance; they may be worried for the people of Parnassos and annoyed with official rules, but that doesn’t mean they can be brash towards one another. “What he _means_ is,” Leia interjects, “Kylo Ren, do you foresee any possible way in which we can bypass this prior approval clause?”

Tallie looks away; nobody notices but Kylo, and he says nothing. He’s frowning greatly, but the mask hides it. He’s never spoken to his mother like this, never been given the opportunity by Snoke. This is an odd situation, one he hadn’t foreseen. Brendol Hux was supposed to live on for years, and Parnassos wasn’t supposed to have a nuclear disaster.

“There is no way,” he says, his voice obscured by the modulator. 

He speaks formally, as Snoke expects, and it’s different enough from his day to day speech patterns that nobody would dare suspect it was Ben Solo beneath the mask. The disappointment on Queen Leia’s face mirrors that of the disappointment she often bears upon her face when speaking to him as Ben, and it ignites a rage in his chest that he must fight to keep suppressed. She doesn’t know it’s him, doesn’t know the memories that sort of expression dredges up.

“So that’s it?” Kaydel asks hopelessly. “We just let them die if Captain Phasma and Finn can’t save them all?”

“I’m afraid there’s no other way,” Holdo responds, looking regretful.

Leia looks to Elizabeth with a highly displeased look on her face. Elizabeth’s proud smirk is stronger than ever; she truly did become a Hux once she married into the family. After a long gaze, Leia turns and looks to Wexley. “Keep trying. If we can get the call through, we can ask. We can’t give up.”

He nods dutifully.

“Alright, meeting over. Good talk.”

Leia turns and walks away before Kylo and Elizabeth even turn off the holoprojectors. It’s been a long, stressful day, and it’s not even half over yet.

——

“You remember the plan?” 

Phasma looks seriously at Finn, who now stands in full Stormtrooper gear — the only protective gear they could find on Phasma’s ship. He holds the helmet in his hand, under his arm, and watches as she expertly lands the ship on the largest intact area of land they could find upon entering the atmosphere.

The sky has an eerie green hue to it, and Finn hopes like hell the helmet can filter out whatever toxins are in the air now that the disaster has occurred and gases and chemicals are spreading. “Yes. Find as many people as we can and bring them back to this ship. Separate children from families if necessary. Anyone showing signs of severe radiation poisoning get left behind,” he recites back to her.

“Precisely,” Phasma nods. “We have to act fast. I don’t know exactly how much time has passed since the disaster but there have to be survivors. There _have_ to be.”

Finn nods and pulls on the Stormtrooper helmet. His voice is modulated as he asks, “Do we need to worry about the ship’s capacity?”

“It can hold approximately three-hundred people,” Phasma responds. “If we can manage to get that many people on board, I’ll consider this a success.”

She’s wearing her own gear — like that of a Stormtrooper, but chrome from head to toe with a red and black cape. She pulls the helmet on over her head, modulating her voice as well as she climbs out of her pilot’s seat and follows Finn out of the cockpit.

“Don’t forget these,” she says, handing him a knapsack full of masks.

She’d found as many as she could stowed away in the ship as it cruised on auto from Arkanis to Parnassos. Paired with people covering their bodies as much as possible, the masks should protect anyone they find that is healthy enough to get back to the ship and move to a new home. It’s not much, but it’s the best they can do.

They’re surrounded by absolute chaos as soon as the exit the ship. There’s shouting and screaming, bodies everywhere. Some are sitting in the streets looking worse for wear, but conscious. Others are already passed out. There’s a haze in the air that Finn’s never seen before in his life, something terrifying. He can smell a hint of something in his helmet, so he asks Phasma, “Will this mask protect me?”

“Yes,” Phasma says. “I fitted your helmet with an additional filter to block out extraneous gases and liquids, just as mine does. It’ll keep all radiation out, including that which has attached to water molecules in the air. You’ll be just fine.”

“And —?”

“Finn, go!” Phasma shouts, pointing the opposite way down the main street they’ve approached.

There’s no time to chat. He has to trust her, and they’ve got to do this, _fast_.

Finn walks down the street — what was once a beautiful, opulent neighborhood, if the architecture is any indication. But all along the streets, where there were once blooming plants are now shriveled sticks and leaves, remnants of the city that once was. He feels absolutely ridiculous in the stormtrooper uniform; he never in his life thought he’d wear one, or even encounter a stormtrooper in the first place. They were practically mythological to him, out on Yavin IV.

But now it’s all that stands between him and severe radiation sickness, something that clearly most people in this neighborhood already have. The roads are lined with people staring at him, halfway to passing out, some vomiting, some dry-heaving, many crying. It’s a horrifying sight. 

Up ahead, he sees a small family gathered in the window of their home, staring out at him. The man begins to wave frantically, beckoning Finn over. He rushes to them, and sneaks through the smallest crack in the door that they can bear to afford him.

Across the room stands a woman and two young children. They’re staring at him wide-eyed and full of terror. “Do you speak Basic?” Finn asks.

“Yes,” nods the man. “What’s going on?”

“The nuclear facility nearby exploded. Radiation has filled the air,” Finn explains. “I’m here with Captain Phasma to find survivors.”

Across the room, her voice trembling, the woman asks, “Where will we go?”

Finn shrugs. “Somewhere safe,” he says. “You need to gather your things. Clothing, a few food items if you have them. The ship is sparse. Then you need to cover up as best you can. I have masks, and it will be enough to get you safely to the ship.”

The man and woman exchange glances, then nod their consent. “Look,” Finn says as he hands out the masks. “I need to search the area for survivors. Only Captain Phasma and I can open the ship. Can we use this as a safe house? Any survivors further down that I can find, they come here until we can bring everyone to the ship together?”

The man nods. “We can do that.”

“Great. I need something… a stick? A signpost? Something I can put in your yard.”

“Put this in the yard,” says the woman, handing him a bright yellow chair.

It’s a child’s chair, but the color is striking against all the death and decay out the window. “Mommy,” cries a young girl.

“We have to,” says the mother sternly.

Finn takes the chair and feels a sudden frantic rush to keep moving. “Thank you for your help. I’ll put this out front. Only let in people with these masks on, okay? Only _these_ masks.”

Dutifully, the couple nods, and Finn leaves the home in search of more survivors. His stomach turns as he sees the various states of death on the street. Mothers holding dead babies in their arms, husbands clutching their wives as they watch them vomit blood. People stumbling and falling. Already, people losing their hair.

The disaster has gone on longer than anyone expected, Finn is sure.

He doesn’t know how long he’s out searching, but in the end he only has about fifteen people to bring back to the ship. They rush through the streets, not encountering any problems until just a few feet away.

“Please, help me!”

A woman tosses herself at Finn, clinging to his armor. Her eyes are filled with tears and she’s got loose strands of hair down the front of her shirt. He can see the specks of blood on her chin, and is surprised that in her state of radiation sickness, she’s even able to speak. 

“Take me with you, _please_ ,” she begs, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m alive, I want to live, _please_.”

Finn’s heart aches for her; he can see how desperately she wants to join them, wants to live. He knows that radiation sickness isn’t contagious, but whatever she’s exposed to, they all could be, too. It’s not safe for those who aren’t infected to bring her with. It’s too much of a risk.

“No,” he says.

He’s grateful for the modulator on his helmet; his own voice was weak, trembling ever so slightly. In the distance, he sees Phasma approaching the ship with a small group of people in tow.

“Please!” begs the woman, tugging harder at his armor.

Finn fears she’ll rip the white panels of armor right off of him, and he has to wrench his arm away from her before she gets the opportunity. “No. Healthy people only,” he says firmly.

“Please,” she cries, tears now streaming down her cheeks. “I want to live. I’m okay. _Please_.”

In the distance, Phasma stands by the gangway, waiting to let the rest of the survivors in. Finn looks over his shoulder at the healthy people he’d found. “Go to Captain Phasma. Now.”

The group behind him doesn’t need telling twice. They rush to Phasma and board the ship. The woman tugs at Finn’s arm again and won’t let go; he feels disgusted that he has to turn her away, that he’s unable to save her. He hears Phasma shouting his name in the distance. It’s time to go — they have more people to save.

Finn pulls his arm from the woman’s grip and pushes her to the ground. She falls with a sickening crack, not unconscious, but certainly broken in some way or another. Her scream echoes in Finn’s ears as he rushes back to the ship and boards so that they can leave. As soon as they’re inside, the air pressure switched over and the air around them sanitized, Finn removes his helmet. 

Phasma has already removed hers, and she watches him with concern. He shakes his head, unable to find words.

“You did what you had to do,” Phasma reassures him.

He shakes his head. “They’re all dying. They’re so sick.”

“Leaving her behind was the right thing to do,” Phasma says. “As was sending the survivors to me as you fended her off. You’re a good leader, Finn. And strong, too.”

Their eyes meet, and Finn is speechless. He’s meant to serve — he always has been. Leadership wasn’t ever supposed to be in the cards for him. He swallows hard and looks into her eyes, trying to figure out what to say to her, how to act.

Before either can find the words to say, there’s a thud on the outside of the ship, followed by a scream of fear from inside of it.

“We have to go,” Phasma says reluctantly, opening the door.

They walk through the doorway, past the survivors, and to the cockpit.

Just before stepping inside, Finn turns around to look at the meager group they managed to assemble. They all look exhausted and hungry, and full of questions. Masks lay in disarray across most of the cargo bay. 

“Please put the masks in these bags,” he says, holding out the bags he and Phasma had been carrying. “We’re going to continue the search for survivors. Is anyone willing to help us search? The more we have in the search party, the faster this will go.”

He looks over his shoulder to Phasma, who nods at him with a pleased smile on her face. He knows where the stormtrooper uniforms are, for anyone who volunteers to help them search for the healthy. 

“Toxin filters are in the cupboard above the helmets,” Phasma instructs. “It’s easy to fit them, you can do it.”

He nods back; he can organize this while she flies them to the next port on planet.

Of their group of twenty-eight survivors, four step forward, three men and one woman. As the rest gather masks into bags and divide them so each person has enough, Finn fits the volunteers with their own suit and modifies their helmets as he does so. He doesn’t think twice about stepping up and taking the lead; saving the healthy on Parnassos is what’s right, Light Side or Dark Side be damned. 

And for once in his life, he’ll get to be the hero. His childhood dream, achieved in a way he’d never imagined possible.


	20. Act I, Chapter XX: A New Planetary Order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goodbyes are said, couples solidify, and Phasma has to make great strides to provide for the survivors of Parnassos. Then, Rey gets great news from the Supreme Leader.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for hanging out this far (if you have). This is the conclusion of Act I, similar to the end of the first film of a trilogy. There will be a few weeks hiatus before I jump back in to Act II, wherein I will do my best not to drop any plot lines.
> 
> Thank you to Michelle for beta reading. Moodboard by me.

Ben returns to the Royal Palace on Alderaan the day after Leia’s meeting with Kylo Ren and the others; he’s been given special clearance codes to bypass the embargo, as have most royals at this point in time. In order to keep peace, it’s necessary for leaders to be on their respective planets, if they so choose. One of the only leaders to not return to their planet is Hux, who has opted to remain on Yavin IV and let his mother run the affairs of Arkanis.

Bitterly, Ben wonders if it has anything to do with Poe. He hadn’t expected Poe to be so into the idea of marrying Hux, and certainly hadn’t expected Hux to reciprocate. He wishes he could just go to Yavin and visit him, that they could chat like they were teenagers and pretend the galaxy wasn’t about to descend into madness, chaos, and war. 

However, all this concern about peace in the galaxy did lead to Leia sounding more excited about Ben’s homecoming than she had in years, which actually helped his mood a little. Normally, it wouldn’t, but Ben was dreading his return for so many reasons that actually having someone there to greet him did wonders for his mood.

He hasn’t gone to the hangar since his arrival; in fact, Ben has barely left his quarters. He fears running into Paige, or worse — Rose.

As it turns out, even avoiding her by hiding in his room is a fruitless quest; that afternoon, shortly before Ben is expected downstairs for dinner with his parents, Rose appears in his doorway. She knocks and doesn’t step inside, not until he grants her permission.

“You can come in, you know.”

She bites her lip and only enters a few footsteps. She’s wearing her jumpsuit again, the one he always sees her wearing in the hangar, with grease stains on half of it and her name in Aurebesh on the front. 

It’s unbearably awkward. The last time they’d spoken, they’d had sex. And then she’d left him alone in the mountains of Alderaan, and he was full of shame for it all. They’d gone too far, and it was all his fault.

“Yes?” he asks, inquiring as to what she wants in as few syllables as possible.

Rose crosses her arms in front of her; she’s not going to take back what she did, or apologize for it. She has a lot going right in her life — one little vacation can’t change that. “I came to see if you were okay,” she responds.

His brow furrows and he looks at her grumpily. Usually, she’d laugh, but today she just stands tall in place. She doesn’t dare react more than that.

“Everything’s fine,” he responds. 

The last thing Ben wants to do is talk about waking up alone and finding out that she’d left him. It hurt, and he knows that given the events of the past few days, he doesn’t have it in him to keep his temper in check. It’s better for both of them if she just changes the topic or leaves.

“Are you sure?” Rose presses.

He stands from where he’d been seated at the end of his bed, walking towards her and using his height to his advantage. She looks up at him defiantly, just as always, but now there’s an edge of something to her gaze — she’s on the defense. Almost like she’s afraid of him.

The realization is like a stab to the chest, an ache that spreads throughout his entire body that he just can’t bear.

“Why are you so curious?” he asks, mirroring her defensiveness with his words.

Rose sighs. “I saw the news.”

Rolling his eyes, Ben walks away from her, his back turned as he approaches the window. “Everyone saw the news. Parnassos is in trouble and we can’t do anything because Phasma won’t answer her comms,” Ben says bitterly. “And my mom is mad about it.”

“No, not that,” Rose says, entering the room, approaching Ben with more bravery than she’d previously had.

He hesitates before turning to face her. “Then what?”

The intensity of his gaze makes her stop in her tracks. Rose hesitates before she explains, “You were spotted on Coruscant. At _500 Republica_. You visited Tallie, didn’t you?”

There’s something in Rose’s tone that puts Ben on edge. If it’s jealousy, she shouldn’t be allowed to feel such a thing — _she_ left _him_ — if he wants to go visit his ex-wife afterwards, he’s well within his rights to do so. Ben is immediately on the defense as he says, “It’s none of anyone’s business whether I did or did not visit her. But even if I did, it doesn’t matter. People get mad at everything I do, these days.”

“That’s not true,” Rose says instantly. 

Her expression softens; does she think he’s talking about her leaving him after what they did? Is this his not-so-subtle way of conveying his disappointment? Though she’d love to overthink it, what Rose wants to do more than anything is just reassure Ben — it’s good for him to have people he can turn to when he needs to talk, people other than her.

“I can almost guarantee your parents aren’t going to be mad at you about this,” Rose says confidently.

“People saw me going into her apartment. That’s going to start a lot of rumors that will hurt her campaign. I’m a kriffing idiot, and they _will_ be angry.”

She sighs. It’s clear that he’s feeling mopey and argumentative; they’re not going to get anywhere with this conversation if they continue. So, she steps a little closer to him and brings up what she _really_ wanted to talk to him about.

“I came here to say goodbye, Ben.”

He’s quiet and avoids her eyes. He knows what this means — not just one more person leaving him, but what she’s risking when she leaves. She could _die_ , fighting for the Resistance. 

This could be the last time they ever see each other.

When Ben finally deigns to look up, their eyes meet and he sees the tears in Rose’s eyes. She’s usually so steadfast and strong; it’s unnerving for him to see such sadness on her face. “I — if I don’t see you again, I need you to know —”

“Don’t talk like that, Rose,” Ben says. His voice cracks when he utters her name.

“Ben, this galaxy is about to go to war whether we’re ready for it or not,” she replies. “My admissions were expedited so I could be trained for the day war is declared. I — I leave tomorrow.”

“For which academy?”

“Yavin.”

Ben is quiet; he averts his gaze to the ground and for a moment, has no idea what to say to her. There are so many words swirling in his head, but after what happened in the mountains, he’s not entirely sure the words are appropriate now. She wouldn’t appreciate them.

“I need you to know that I didn’t leave you because I don’t care for you,” Rose says, stepping closer to him. “I left because… I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“It’s too late for that,” he replies bitterly.

She’s nearly standing toe to toe with him now, at the edge of his bed. The room is fraught with tension, unspoken emotions, and so much fear. “Tallie broke your heart. I hate the thought that I just did that to you, too,” Rose confesses. “I — Ben, I care _so much_ about you, and… you’re going to be a great king, I know it, but —”

“Can’t you stay?”

His words are impulsive, stupid. He knows as soon as he’s uttered them that they’re the wrong words to say. Rose looks pained, and then averts her gaze. “Ben…”

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I just —”

“Please, don’t.”

She knows he’s just going to sing her praises, to tell her what she already knows: that he’s not as comfortable around other people as he is around her. But that’s not her job, to sit around and be his safe person. It was never in the cards for her to marry into royalty, yet she knows she can achieve more than being some royal family’s hangar mechanic.

“Let’s just say goodbye as friends, before anything gets weirder,” Rose suggests.

Her eyes have grown glassy; that toughness in her that Ben is so used to has disappeared, to be replaced with the emotional young woman before him. 

“Please.”

The moment she begs, Ben’s expression falls to one of defeat. His shoulders slump, and he knows this is it. Stepping away from Rose, he walks to the window of his bedroom and gazes out at all of Alderaan — all that will be his one day. He doesn’t look to see if she’s followed him, isn’t sure he wants to know.

“Ben… please. I want us to part on good terms,” she pleads. “I’m not even sure I’ll come _back_ , I —”

“You’ll come back.”

Ben speaks fiercely as he turns around to look at her. She looks as hurt as he feels, thinking about her going into the inevitable war and not coming out safely on the other side. 

Rose steps towards him now, tears threatening to fall from her eyes. “You’ve been my best friend, Ben. You’ve made me feel like a lot more than I really am. I feel important, when I’m with you. You listen, and… I really appreciate that,” she says softly.

“Don’t do this,” Ben warns, shaking his head.

 

“Promise you’ll look out for Paige, if I don’t come back?” Rose asks, ignoring his plea.

“Rose,” he begins, but she shakes her head.

“ _Promise me_ ,” she repeats.

Ben frowns and looks down at his feet. He’s known Rose for years, but never in a million years thought that saying goodbye to her would hurt so much. As he stands before her, he feels the same crushing disappointment in his chest he’d felt when he and Tallie had officially called it quits. 

He nods. “I promise.”

“Thank you.”

Rose sniffles, but Ben can’t bear to look up, to meet her eye. He knows she’s crying now, and the sight of that would surely break his heart. She steps closer to him, daring to slide her arms around his waist and hug him. Ben stands stock still for a moment, but doesn’t want to be stubborn and ruin this. It may well be his last moment with her. He rests one hand on her lower back, the other in her hair.

She clings to him, as strongly as she had that night in the mountains, like he’s her last hope for survival. In some ways, he is. Kings determine the fates of their worlds — wars, peace, everything between — and it’s on Ben’s family to do that. To decide Rose’s fate.

The thought makes him sick, so he holds on a little tighter.

——

“The embargoes will be lifted soon. We’ll need to leave this place.”

Hux sits atop Poe’s plush bed, leaning against the pillows in naught but a bathrobe, watching as Poe stands ethereally next to the floor to ceiling window. He stands with nothing but a towel around his waist; it’s the most intimate the two have been in front of each other.

“Yeah,” Poe nods. 

He turns to face Hux, his curls still damp from the shower he’d just enjoyed in the fresher. “We going our separate ways?”

Hux considers the question for a long moment. He’s been hot and then cold towards Poe for some time now. The reminder from Phasma that this is one of the easiest missions Hux could have been given rings in his ears, a harsh and unfriendly reminder, but a useful one nonetheless. If this union is to work favorably for the First Order, Hux must put in his best efforts.

“For a short while, I assume, unless you’d like to join me on Arkanis briefly?” Hux replies. “I’m afraid mother will expect some assistance in coordinating my coronation.”

Poe turns his whole body to face Hux now, and Hux takes a moment to appreciate the view. Regardless of his thoughts regarding Poe’s ideology, Hux isn’t afraid to acknowledge that Poe is a very handsome man. “I know you don’t enjoy the climate,” Hux adds. “So if not, I understand.”

“Maybe,” Poe says noncommittally. “I’d kinda like a few days with Finn after his big adventure with Captain Phasma. But after that, sure. I can come out and visit.”

Hux hums in reply. He doesn’t show too much disappointment, just enough to turn the corner of Poe’s mouth up into a smirk. Poe approaches the bed and climbs atop it, his earlier hesitation towards their forced romance gone in favor of the mischief in his eyes. “Gonna miss me?” he asks teasingly.

He crawls on his hands and knees towards Hux, only stopping once he’s knelt next to Hux on the bed. “You know,” Poe confesses. “Sometimes I think this might not actually be so bad.”

Hux raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Poe nods. “The past few days… the galaxy’s been a mess but you haven’t said a single off-putting thing,” he explains. “Not since you asked me to take the blame, I mean. And you haven’t tried to leave, either.”

“Perhaps I don’t want to leave,” Hux lies smoothly.

Poe rests a hand on Hux’s cheek, his thumb tenderly brushing over his cheekbone. Hux hides his discomfort at the tenderness with expert ease. “I’d actually believe you, if you told me that was the truth,” Poe replies.

He looks into Hux’s eyes with a desperation previously unseen, almost as though searching for a reason not to believe him. But Hux stays calm and keeps control of the situation. He sits up on the bed and bends his legs to the side, pushing himself closer to Poe, close enough to smell the woodiness of his soap.

“I don’t want to leave,” Hux says, his voice just above a whisper, like it’s a secret just for the two of them.

Poe leans forward, taking the same risk he’d taken just a week earlier, hoping to be met with different results. This time when their lips meet, Hux doesn’t push Poe away. Instead, he allows himself to enjoy the kiss for what it is: simply a way to satisfy a need. A means to an end. Achieving a goal set forth by his superior. 

Hux has always been good at following orders.

“Come back to Arkanis with me,” Hux whispers dazedly against Poe’s lips.

They kiss again, Poe’s hand sliding back into Hux’s hair, still damp from his earlier shower. Hux knows that if he can just get Poe to agree, it’ll appease both his mother and the Supreme Leader. It’ll get them off his back, give Poe and Hux some security so they can take time apart before the marriage without raising any suspicion. 

“Please.”

Hux’s breathy plea against Poe’s perfect plump lips is all it takes. Poe nods and kisses Hux again, fingers combing comfortingly against Hux’s scalp. “Okay,” he sighs before kissing Hux once more, deeper this time.

Slowly, Hux guides them backwards on the bed, chest swelling with pride at the developments he’s made towards his mission in the past few days. He’s grieved and struggled of course, but those very obstacles were key to his success in securing Dameron’s trust. And now, as they lay back against the pillows, Poe’s tongue darting across Hux’s lower lip, Hux is sure he’ll go above and beyond for his people, and for the Supreme Leader.

It’s only a matter of time.

——

Across the galaxy, millions of citizens of all races tune in to the news. The holonet’s biggest story that day is of Captain Phasma’s galaxy-wide address in the wake of the Parnassos Disaster, as the news outlets have taken to calling it. She is finally going to speak to what happened, and give an update of what is to come.

She stands proud in a metallic silver pantsuit, her hair combed back neatly and crimson lipstick on her mouth. Phasma stands tall and looks out at the crowd before her. At the front, her people — the only ones she was able to save, just a few hundred bodies in varying states of health. Behind them, rows upon rows of Stormtroopers standing at attention, the whole of the First Order there to witness her address. She can only imagine how many are watching across the whole galaxy. The thought of it sends power coursing through her veins, fueling her rage and her fire, her whole motivation for giving her speech. 

Expression full of determination, Phasma begins her address to the galaxy at large.

“I stand before you today the proud leader of Parnassos. Though our planet is uninhabited due to a horrible, tragic accident,” she pauses, a smirk playing upon her lips to insinuate that she believes it was not an accident at all, “we must remember that the people of Parnassos are strong. We have survived wars, both with our neighboring planets as well as with ourselves. We have weathered plagues and uprisings. And we will not be deterred by one nuclear disaster.

“For many of you, this is the first time you are looking upon the fields of Starkiller Base. This magnificent creation put forth by the First Order’s best scientific minds has its own orbit, gravity… its own _climate_. I see snow out on the horizon, and anticipate the relief of a spring thaw a short time beyond that. All Starkiller Base needs now is a people — _a culture_.”

Phasma takes a deep breath and adjusts her stance a bit wider. Her broad shoulders already show all the strength she possesses, but as she straightens her spine, she manages to look even more powerful — a literal force to be reckoned with.

“Though I regret to inform you all that the group of citizens standing before me are the only ones who were able to be saved from the rotting landscape of Parnassos,” she pauses, allowing the camera droids floating around to sufficiently capture the small group of only about two-hundred citizens in front of her, “I am pleased to share with you all today that these survivors will be our first legal residents of the newest planet in the galaxy: Starkiller Base.”

There is a hum of excitement between the citizens. On Alderaan, Leia and Holdo exchange weary glances. In his chambers, Ben buries his face in his hands. On Arkanis, Hux and Poe are too distracted by physical pleasures to hear a single word of her address.

“With Supreme Leader Snoke’s blessing, we will begin to inhabit Starkiller Base and make this new planet our home. We will create our own unique culture, our own cities. And I vow to you all today that I will not rest until the leadership across our galaxy grants Starkiller Base senatorial representation and leadership.”

Phasma is nearly shouting now as she delivers the final lines of her speech, impassioned with power, overcome with determination to provide for whatever citizens she has left. 

“Today, I am proud to stand before you all as the leader of the Parnassians, survivors of the Con Star Nuclear Disaster and the future senatorial leader of Starkiller Base. _Nothing_ will stand in our way.”

The crowd of citizens from Parnassos burst into loud, raucous cheers. Though they look ill and exhausted, the leadership Phasma showed during her speech filled them with a renewed sense of pride and spirit. As they cheer, all the stormtroopers in Phasma’s sight lift their arms in triumph and let out a loud grunt in unison.

She smiles, satisfied, as she watches her new people cheer with such happiness, hopeful for many similar reactions all across the galaxy. 

Hours later, in her private suite, Phasma sits back in a chair nursing the finest wine on planet. She looks smugly proud as she basks in the exhilaration and pride from her speech. At her side sits Finn, the man who made it all possible.

“I wouldn’t have had people to bring back here if it wasn’t for you,” she says to him. “I cannot thank you enough.”

Finn is quiet as he nurses his own glass of wine. The expensive, rare nature of it is wasted on him; he can’t tell the cheap wine from the expensive stuff, but feels no shame for that around Phasma. She’s shockingly understanding, given her background.

“You’re welcome.”

She allows him a moment of silence to mull over his thoughts and take a breath before she moves on to the next thing she’d hoped to speak to him about — something that has been weighing on her for some time now.

“Have you given any further thought to my proposition?”

He remains quiet; Phasma doesn’t push. Instead, she stips from her wine and gazes out at the first snowflakes beginning to fall on the surface of Starkiller. It’s a beautiful view, a rare one on Parnassos but what appears to be a common one on her new planet. Though it’s heartbreaking that the place she knew as _home_ has been destroyed irreparably, she takes comfort knowing that she’s already found somewhere for not just herself, but for her people.

Finally, Finn speaks. “I’m not against it. But… I haven’t seen Poe. He and his family are the reason I’ve survived at all… I need to speak with them about it,” he says.

“Of course,” nods Phasma. “If there’s anything I can do to help you, as well…”

“Thank you,” Finn says. “But this is a conversation I should have with them on my own.”

She nods again, opting to sip from her wine rather than say something else. 

Finn brings his glass to his lips, but doesn’t sip from it. He hesitates before lowering the glass and asking, “What would it entail?”

“What would _what_ entail?”

Phasma looks to Finn and waits for his response; she’d like to be clear on what exactly it is that he’d like to know.

“A marriage between us.”

“Well,” she begins, thinking very carefully about how to proceed before actually speaking. “That would be negotiable. I would be open to feedback from you, and I have very few requests.”

Finn mulls over her words and sips from his glass as he does so. There’s a question weighing on his mind, of that Phasma has no doubt. It’s clear in the lines across his forehead and the way he won’t make eye contact. 

She won’t pressure him to speak, though. He has agency around her, can speak freely and ask or say whatever he needs to in order to feel at peace. 

“I always imagined that if I married, it would be for love.”

His words don’t surprise Phasma; in fact, she finds them completely in character for a man like Finn. He’s got a romanticized yet incredibly practical view of the world. 

“Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to pursuing something like that with you,” Phasma says, her tone light and conversational. “As a planetary leader, it is my duty to produce at least one heir. But aside from that, I do seek the companionship of another, believe it or not.”

Curiously, Finn asks, “Why haven’t you?”

“Believe me, I’ve tried,” she replies. “I have very high standards.”

He’s quiet; the question hangs unsaid between them. Phasma waits for the briefest of moments in hopes that he’ll ask, but Finn won’t — he’s too obedient, has too many manners to ask.

“Yes, you meet those standards, Finn. Exceed them, in most cases.”

Again, Finn says nothing. He stares out at the snowflakes as the fall through the darkness, the sun setting on the planet in the distance. The proposition is enticing, but life on a First Order planet, in a First Order regime — it goes against everything he was raised on, everything the Damerons and his own mother held dear. They’re the reason his birth parents died, most likely.

But Phasma is offering him a chance at something bigger and better. A chance to be someone great — to have power and influence and purpose. 

Rather than trying to explain further, Phasma stands. She’s still in her silver power suit from earlier, looking as incredible as ever. Finn looks up in surprise, one eyebrow quirked. She gives a quick nod of her head, prompting him to stand as well. He sets aside his wine as he does so, though he notices that Phasma still holds her glass in her hand casually, dangling it between her fingers where they cup around the stem. 

“Any person in this galaxy would be lucky to have you as their husband.”

She reaches out, placing just two fingers beneath his chin to tip his face upwards towards hers. “I do hope you will continue considering,” she continues. Her voice is soft, nearly a purr. “I think our union could be quite beneficial.”

There, in the moonlight streaming into her suite on Starkiller Base, Phasma leans forward. Finn willingly meets her halfway, their lips touching for the first of possibly many times.

——

Rey stands in her private chambers on Arkanis, tall and proud, shoulders squared. She’s meeting with the Supreme Leader via holoprojection, and hopes he realizes just how hard she’s worked the past few weeks to make herself a worthy governor’s candidate, as well as potential warrior.

She’s worked too hard to lose it all now.

“You have done well, Kira Ren.”

Rey bows her head, grateful for the praise. Usually it means next to nothing to her, because she’s lived a life devoid of any praise whatsoever. But now that she’s fighting for status, for a better lot in life, she must do all she can to receive as much praise as possible.

“Thank you, Supreme Leader.”

There’s a fire lit within her, a desire to do more, to be more. Her veins course with a need to have power, to make everyone sorry for what they’ve put her through — her parents for abandoning her, the First Order for blowing up Jakku, Elizabeth Hux for continually viewing her as nothing but scum. 

“You are ready to begin your training.”

She looks up sharply, surprised at the sudden change in plans.

“Yes… I’d wanted to wait. But I feel the anger within you. I see your need to fight, to have an outlet,” Snoke says, knowing full well Rey is hanging off of his every word. 

She opens her mouth to speak, but is interrupted before she can make so much as a sound. “You will continue your training with the Hux family and await further instruction from me. My apprentice, Kylo Ren, shall begin training you shortly.”

Rey bites back any questions or protests she’d been considering saying; instead, she bows her head once more and says, “Thank you, Supreme Leader.”

Though never one to traditionally become passive or subservient, Rey understands what is necessary to survive and succeed within the ranks of the First Order. If she follows Snoke’s command and bides her time, she will achieve far greater than even her wildest imagination.

The holoprojection ends abruptly, and Rey is left standing alone in her chambers. Slowly, she walks to the double French doors that lead to her own private balcony not unlike the one where she and Hux had shared a heated kiss not that long ago.

He’s out there somewhere, with Prince Poe, the two of them no doubt forging forward in the relationship they’ve been forced into. Rey wonders if she’ll face the same fate, if that’s one more thing she’ll have to submit to in order to succeed in life as she most desires. 

Stars speckle in the sky, bright, then dim, and bright again. She imagines they’re the flaming remnants of the exploded mining corporation on Parnassos, or perhaps a ship carrying her enemies — not that she has many anymore, with Jakku being dust in the sky.

Elections lay in the near future, and the uncertainty hangs over her head like the clouds above, dark and threatening to burst forth with rain at any moment. Though she feels unprepared, Rey knows she’s made great strides.

She walks in heels. She bites her tongue. She can dress herself in the traditional Arkanisian dresses handed down to her by Elizabeth Hux. She can even put on a touch of makeup.

But that is all just a facade; she’s still a scavenger from Jakku, entangled with the future King of Arkanis, serving the Supreme Leader of the First Order, and a Knight of Ren.

What lay ahead, she cannot fathom, but even so, must be prepared.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr at armltagehux and Twitter at armitagehoox.


End file.
